Theodore  GoodridjSeoberls 

o     \ 


THE   FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 


M  CALHL 


STORIES  BY 

Captain 
Theodore  Goodridge  Roberts 


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THE  PAGE  COMPANY 

53   Beacon  Street,   Boston,   Mass. 


HE    SAW    HIS    BOMB    BURST    BESIDE    THE    STUMP    OF 

CHIMNEY."  (See  page  194) 


FIGHTING 
STARKLEYS 

OR.  THE  TEST  OF  COURAGE 

BY 
CAPTAIN  THEODORE  GOODRIDGE  ROBERTS 

Author  of 
"Comrades  of  the  Trails,"  "Red  Feathers."  "Flying  Plover,"  etc. 


ILLUSTRATED   BY 
GEORGE   VARIAN 


BOSTON 
THE  PAGE  COMPANY 

MDCCCCXXII 


Copyright,  1920, 
BY  PERRY  MASON  COMPANY 

Copyright,  1922, 
BY  THE  PAGE  COMPANY 

All  rights  reserved 


Made  in  U.  S.  A. 


First  Impression,  April,  1922 


PRINTED  BY   C.  H.  SIMONDS   COMPANY 
BOSTON,  MASS.,  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    THE  CALL  COMES  TO  BEAVER  DAM    .       i 

II.    JIM  HAMMOND  DOES  NOT  RETURN  TO 

DUTY 29 

III.  THE  VETERANS  OF  OTHER  DAYS    .     .     56 

IV.  PRIVATE  SILL  ACTS 80 

V.     PETER'S  ROOM  Is  AGAIN  OCCUPIED  .     '  109 

VI.  DAVE  HAMMER  GETS  His  COMMISSION  131 

VII.  PETER  WRITES  A  LETTER     ....   155 

VIII.    THE  26TH  "Mops  UP" 178 

IX.  FRANK  SACOBIE  OBJECTS    ....  203 

X.  DICK  OBLIGES  His  FRIEND  ....  225 


2132405 


LIST  OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 
"  HE  SAW  HIS  BOMB  BURST  BESIDE  THE  STUMP 

OF  CHIMNEY  "  (See  page  194)      .      Frontispiece 

"  '  I  CAN'T  MAKE  YOU  OUT/  SAID  THE  SER- 
GEANT " 23 

"  '  I'M  HIT,  BOYS !  '  HE  SAID  "     .       .       .  50 

" '  HERE'S  ONE  OF  THEM,  SIR  ;  AND  THERE'S 
MORE  COMING/  SAID  THE  MAN  OF  MUD  "     .     150 

"  STANDING  IN  THE  DOORWAY  OF  THE  COM- 
PARTMENT, DICK  SALUTED  "  .       .       .       .     240 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  CALL  COMES  TO  BEAVER  DAM 

EAVER  DAM  was  a  farm;  but 
long  before  the  day  of  John  Stark- 
ley  and  his  wife,  Constance  Emma, 
who  lived  there  with  their  five  children,  the 
name  had  been  applied  to  and  accepted  by 
a  whole  settlement  of  farms,  a  gristmill,  a 
meetinghouse,  a  school  and  a  general  store. 
John  Starkley  was  a  farmer,  with  no  other 
source  of  income  than  his  wide  fields. 
Considering  those  facts,  it  is  not  to  be 
wondered  at  that  his  three  boys  and  two 
girls  had  been  bred  to  an  active,  early- 
rising,  robust  way  of  life  from  their  early 
childhood. 

The  original  human  habitation  of  Beaver 
1 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

Dam  had  been  built  of  pine  logs  by  John's 
grandfather,  one  Maj.  Richard  Starkley, 
and  his  friend  and  henchman,  Two-Blanket 
Sacobie,  a  Malecite  sportsman  from  the  big 
river.  The  present  house  had  been  built 
only  a  few  years  befoTe  the  major's  death, 
by  his  sons,  Peter  and  Richard,  and  a  son 
of  old  Two-Blanket,  of  hand-hewn  timbers, 
whipsawn  boards  and  planks  and  hand- 
split  shingles.  But  the  older  house  still 
stands  solid  and  true  and  weather-tight  on 
its  original  ground ;  its  lower  floor  is  a  tool 
house  and  general  lumber  room  and  its  up- 
per floor  a  granary. 

Soon  after  the  completion  of  the  new 
house  the  major's  son  Richard  left  Beaver 
Dam  for  the  town  of  St.  John,  where  he 
found  employment  with  a  firm  of  mer- 
chants trading  to  London,  Spain  and  the 
West  Indies.  He  was  sent  to  Jamaica ;  and 

2 


CALL  COMES  TO  BEAVER  DAM 

from  that  tropic  isle  he  sent  home,  at  one 
time  and  another,  cases  of  guava  jelly  and 
"hot  stuff,"  a  sawfish's  saw  and  half  a  dozen 
letters.  From  Jamaica  he  was  promoted 
to  London;  and  as  the  years  passed,  his 
letters  became  less  and  less  frequent  until 
they  at  last  ceased  entirely.  So  much  for 
the  major's  son  Richard. 

Peter  stuck  to  the  farm.  (He  was  a  big, 
kind-hearted,  quiet  fellow,  a  hard  worker, 
a  great  reader  of  his  father's  few  books. 
He  married  the  beautiful  daughter  of  a 
Scotchman  who  had  recently  settled  at 
Green  Hill — a  Scotchman  with  a  red  beard, 
a  pedigree  longer  and  a  deal  more  twisted 
than  the  road  to  Fredericton,  a  mastery  of 
the  bagpipes,  two  hundred  acres  of  wild 
iland  and  an  empty  sporran.  Of  Peter 
Starkley  and  his  beautiful  wife,  Flora, 
came  John,  who  had  his  father's  steadfast- 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

ness  and  his  mother's  fire.  He  went  farther 
afield  for  his  wife  than  his  father  had  gone 
— out  to  the  big  river,  St.  John,  and  down 
it  many  miles  to  the  sleepy  old  village  and 
elm-shaded  meadows  of  Gagetown.  It 
was  a  long  way  for  a  busy  young  farmer  to 
go  courting;  but  Constance  Emma  Garden 
was  worth  a  thousand  longer  journeys. 

When  Henry,  the  oldest  of  the  five 
Starkley  children,  went  to  college  to  study 
civil  engineering,  sixteen-year-old  Peter, 
fourteen-year-old  Flora,  twelve-year-old 
Dick  and  eight-year-old  Emma  were  at 
home.  Peter,  who  was  done  with  school, 
did  a  man's  work  on  the  farm;  he  owned  a 
sorrel  mare  with  a  reputation  as  a  trotter, 
contemplated  spending  the  next  winter  in 
the  lumber  woods  and  planned  agriculture 
activities  on  a  scale  and  of  a  kind  to  astonish 
his  father. 

4 


CALL  COMES  TO  BEAVER  DAM 

On  a  Saturday  morning  in  June  Dick 
and  Flora,  who  were  chums,  got  up  even 
earlier  than  usual.  They  breakfasted  by 
themselves  in  the  summer  kitchen  of  the 
silent  house,  dug  earthworms  in  the  rich 
brown  loam  of  the  garden  and,  taking  their 
fishing  rods  from  behind  the  door  of  the 
tool  house,  set  out  hurriedly  for  Frying 
Pan  River.  When  they  were  halfway  to 
the  secluded  stream  they  overtook  Frank 
Sacobie,  the  great-grandson  of  Two-Blanket 
Sacobie,  who  had  helped  Maj.  Richard 
Starkley  build  his  house. 

The  young  Malecite's  black  eyes  lighted 
pleasantly  at  sight  of  his  friends,  but  his 
lips  remained  unsmiling.  He  was  a  very 
thin,  small-boned,  long-legged  boy  of  thir- 
teen, clothed  in  a  checked  cotton  shirt  and 
the  cut-down  trousers  of  an  older  Sacobie. 
He  did  not  wear  a  hat.  His  straight  black 

5 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

hair  lay  in  a  fringe  just  above  his  eyebrows. 
"Didn't  you  bring  any  worms?"  asked 

Flora. 

"Nope,"  said  Frank. 

"Or  any  luncheon?"  asked  Dick. 

"Nope,"  said  Frank.  "You  two  always 
fetch  plenty  worms  and  plenty  grub." 

He  led  the  way  along  a  lumbermen's 
winter  road,  and  at  last  they  reached  the 
Frying  Pan.  Baiting  their  hooks,  they 
fell  to  fishing. 

The  trout  were  plentiful  in  the  Frying 
Pan;  they  bit,  they  yanked,  they  pulled. 
The  three  young  fishers  heaved  them  ashore 
by  main  force  and  awkwardness — as  folk 
say  round  Beaver  Dam — and  by  noon  the 
three  had  as  many  fish  as  they  could  com- 
fortably carry.  So,  winding  up  their  lines, 
they  washed  their  hands  and  sat  down  in 
a  sunny  place  to  lunch.  All  were  wet,  for 

6 


CALL  COMES  TO  BEAVER  DAM 

all  had  fallen  into  the  river  more  than  once. 
Dick  had  his  left  hand  in  a  bandage  by  that 
time ;  he  had  embedded  a  hook  in  the  fleshy 
part  of  it  and  had  dug  it  out  with  his  jack- 
knife. 

"That's  nothing!  Just  a  scratch!"  he 
said  in  the  best  offhand  military  manner. 
"My  great-grandfather  once  had  a  Russian 
bayonet  put  clean  through  his  shoulder." 

"Guess  my  great-gran'father  did  some 
fightin',  too,"  remarked  Frank  Sacobie. 
"He  was  a  big  chief  on  the  big  river." 

"No,  he  didn't,"  said  Dick.  "He  was  a 
chief,  all  right;  but  there  wasn't  any  right- 
ing on  the  river  in  his  day.  He  was  Two- 
Blanket  Sacobie.  I've  read  all  about  him 
in  my  great-grandfather's  diary." 

"Don't  mean  him,"  said  Frank.  "I 
mean  Two-Blanket's  father's  father's 
father.  His  name  was  just  Sacobie,  and 

T 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

his  mark  was  a  red  canoe.  He  fought  the 
English  and  the  Mohawks.  All  the  Male- 
cites  on  the  big  river  were  his  people,  and 
he  was  very  good  friend  to  the  big  French 
governors.  The  King  of  France  sent  him 
a  big  medal.  My  gran'mother  told  me  all 
about  it  once.  She  said  how  Two-Blanket 
got  his  name  because  he  sold  that  medal  to 
a  white  man  on  the  Oromocto  for  two  blan- 
kets; and  that  was  a  long  time  ago — way 
back  before  your  great-gran'father  ever 
come  to  this  country.  I  tell  you,  if  I  want 
to  be  a  soldier,  I  bet  I  would  make  as  good 
a  soldier  as  Dick." 

"Bet  you  wouldn't,"  retorted  Dick. 

"All  right.  I'm  goin'  to  be  a  soldier— 
and  you'll  see.  I'm  going  into  the  militia 
as  soon  as  I'm  old  enough." 

"So'm  I." 

Flora   laughed.     "Who   will   you   fight 
8 


CALL  COMES  TO  BEAVER  DAM 

with  you  when  you  are  in  the  militia?"  she 
asked. 

The  boys  exchanged  embarrassed  glances. 

"I  guess  the  militia  could  fight  all  right 
if  it  had  to,"  said  Dick. 

"Of  course  it  could,"  said  Frank. 


For  four  years  after  the  conversation 
that  took  place  on  the  bank  of  Frying  Pan 
River  Flora  and  Dick  and  the  rest  of  the 
Starkley  family  except  Henry  lived  on  in 
the  quiet  way  of  the  folk  at  Beaver  Dam. 
The  younger  children  continued  to  go  daily 
to  school  at  the  Crossroads,  to  take  part 
in  the  lighter  tasks  of  farm  and  house,  to 
play  and  fish  and  argue  and  dream  great 
things  of  the  future. 

Peter  spent  each  winter  in  the  lumber 
woods.  In  his  nineteenth  year  he  invested 
his  savings  in  a  deserted  farm  near  Beaver 

9 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

Dam  and  passed  the  greater  part  of  the 
summer  of  1913  in  repairing  the  old  barn 
on  his  new  possession,  cutting  bushes  out  of 
the  old  meadows,  mending  fences  and  clear- 
ing land. 

That  was  only  a  beginning  he  said.  He 
would  own  a  thousand  acres  before  long 
and  show  the  people  of  Beaver  Dam — in- 
cluding his  own  father — how  to  farm  on  a 
big  scale  and  in  an  up-to-date  manner. 

Henry,  the  eldest  Starkley  of  this  gener- 
ation, had  completed  his  course  at  college 
and  got  a  job  with  a  railway  survey  party 
in  the  upper  valley  of  the  big  river.  He 
proved  himself  to  be  a  good  engineer. 

In  the  spring  of  1914  Frank  Sacobie,  now 
seventeen  years  of  age,  left  Beaver  Dam  to 
work  in  a  sawmill  on  the  big  river.  Peter 
Starkley  invested  his  winter's  wages  in  an- 
other mare,  two  cows  and  a  ton  of  chemical 
10 


CALL  COMES  TO  BEAVER  DAM 

fertilizers.  He  ploughed  ten  acres  of  his 
meadows  and  sowed  five  with  oats,  four  to 
buckwheat,  and  planted  one  to  potatoes. 
The  whole  family  was  thrilled  with  the  ro- 
mance of  his  undertaking.  His  father 
helped  him  to  put  in  his  crop;  and  Dick 
and  Flora  found  the  attractions  of  Peter's 
farm  irresistible.  The  very  tasks  that  they 
classed  as  work  at  home  they  considered  as 
play  when  performed  at  "Peter's  place." 
In  the  romantic  glow  of  Peter's  agricul- 
tural beginning  Dick  almost  resigned  his 
military  ambitions.  But  those  ambitions 
were  revived  by  Peter  himself;  and  this  is 
how  it  happened. 

Peter  planned  to  raise  horses,  and  he 
felt  that  the  question  what  class  of  horse  to 
devote  his  energies  to  was  very  important. 
One  day  late  in  June  he  met  a  stranger  in 
the  village  of  Stanley,  and  they  "talked 
11 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

horse."  The  stranger  advised  Peter  to 
visit  King's  County  if  he  wanted  knowledge 
on  that  subject. 

"Enlist  in  the  cavalry,"  he  said — "the 
8th,  Princess  Louise,  New  Brunswick  Hus- 
sars. That  will  give  you  a  trip  for 
nothin' — two  weeks — and  a  dollar  a  day — 
and  a  chance  to  see  every  sort  of  horse  that 
was  ever  bred  in  this  province,  right  there 
in  the  regiment.  Bring  along  a  horse  of 
your  own,  and  the  government  will  pay  you 
another  dollar  a  day  for  it — and  feed  it.  I 
do  it  every  year,  just  for  a  holiday  and  a  bit 
of  change." 

It  sounded  attractive  to  Peter,  and  two 
weeks  later  he  and  his  black  mare  set  off  for 
King's  County  to  join  the  regiment  in  its 
training  camp.  In  his  absence  Dick  and 
Flora  looked  after  the  sorrel  mare,  his  cows 
and  his  farm.  Two  weeks  later  Peter  and 
12 


CALL  COMES  TO  BEAVER  DAM 

the  mare  returned;  the  mare  was  a  little 
thinner  than  of  old,  and  Peter  was  full  of 
talk  of  horses  and  soldiering.  Dick's  mili- 
tary ambitions  relit  in  him  like  an  explosion 
of  gunpowder. 

Then  came  word  of  the  war  to  Beaver 
Dam. 

The  folk  of  Beaver  Dam,  and  of  thou- 
sands of  other  rural  communities,  were 
busy  with  their  haying  when  Canada 
offered  a  division  to  the  mother  country,  for 
service  in  any  part  of  the  world.  Militia 
officers  posted  through  the  country,  seek- 
ing volunteers  to  cross  the  ocean  and  to 
bear  arms  against  terrific  Germany. 

Peter,  now  in  his  twentieth  year,  wished 
to  join. 

"And  what  about  your  new  farm  and  ail 
your  great  plans?"  asked  John  Starkley. 

"Dick  and  I  will  look  after  his  farm  for 
13 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

him,"  said   Flora.     "We  can  harvest  his 
crops  and — " 

Just  then  she  looked  at  her  mother  and 
suddenly  became  silent.  Mrs.  Starkley's 
face  was  very  white. 

"If  the  need  for  men  from  Canada  is 
great,  other  divisions  will  be  called  for," 
said  the  father.  "At  present,  only  one  di- 
vision has  been  asked  for — and  I  think 
that  can  easily  be  filled  with  seasoned 
militiamen." 

"Some  one  drove  past  the  window!"  ex- 
claimed Flora. 

The  door  opened  and  a  young  man,  in 
the  khaki  service  uniform  of  an  officer,  en- 
tered the  room.  He  halted,  removed  his 
cap  and  grinned  broadly  at  the  astonished 
family. 

"Henry!"  cried  Mrs.  Starkley,  pressing 
a  hand  swiftly  and  covertly  to  her  side. 
14 


CALL  COMES  TO  BEAVER  DAM 

Her  husband  found  nothing  to  say  just 
then.  Dick  and  Flora  and  Emma  ran  to 
Henry  and  began  asking  questions  and  ex- 
amining and  fingering  his  belt,  the  leather 
strapping  of  his  smart  riding  breeches, 
even  his  high,  brown  boots  and  shining 
spurs. 

"What  are  you,  Henry?"  asked  Flora. 

"A  sapper — an  engineer." 

"Are  you  an  officer?"  asked  Dick. 

"Lieutenant,  ist  Field  Company,  Cana- 
dian Engineers — that's  what  I  am.  Hope 
you  approve  of  my  boots." 

"Are  you  going,  Henry?"  asked  Peter, 
with  a  noticeable  hitch  in  his  voice  and  a 
curious  expression  of  disappointment  and 
relief  in  his  eyes. 

"Yes,  I'm  to  join  my  unit  at  the  big  mo- 
bilization camp  in  Quebec  in  ten  days,"  re- 
plied Henry. 

15 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

John  Starkley  put  a  hand  on  Peter's 
shoulders.  "Then  you  will  wait,  Peter," 
he  said. 

"You're  needed  here — and  we  must  keep 
you  as  long  as  we  can.  One  at  a  time  is 
enough." 

"I'll  wait  now,  but  I  will  go  with  the  next 
lot,"  said  Peter. 

Henry  had  nine  days  in  which  to  arrange 
his  affairs,  and  no  affairs  to  arrange.  He 
was  in  high  spirits  and  proud  of  his  com- 
mission, but  he  put  on  an  old  tweed  suit 
the  next  morning  and  helped  with  the  last 
of  the  haying  on  the  home  farm  and  on 
Peter's  place.  When  the  nine  days  were 
gone  he  donned  his  uniform  again  and 
drove  away  to  the  nearest  railway  station 
with  his  mother  and  father  and  little 
Emma.  He  wrote  frequent  entertaining 
letters  from  the  big  camp  at  Valcartier. 

16 


CALL  COMES  TO  BEAVER  DAM 

On  the  29th  day  of  September  he 
embarked  at  Quebec;  the  transports 
gathered  in  Gaspe  Basin  and  were  joined 
there  by  their  escort  of  cruisers ;  the  great 
fleet  put  out  to  sea — the  greatest  fleet  that 
had  ever  crossed  the  Atlantic — bearing 
thirty-three  thousand  Canadian  soldiers  to 
the  battlefields  of  Europe  instead  of  the 
twenty  thousand  that  had  been  originally 
promised. 

At  Beaver  Dam  Peter  worked  harder 
than  ever,  but  with  a  look  in  his  eyes  at 
times  that  seemed  to  carry  beyond  the  job 
in  hand.  A  few  weeks  ago  he  had  expe- 
rienced a  pardonable  glow  of  pride  and  self- 
satisfaction  when  people  had  pointed  him 
out  as  the  young  fellow  who  had  bought 
the  old  Smith  place  and  who  was  going  to 
farm  in  a  big  way;  now  it  seemed  to  him 
that  the  only  man  worth  pointing  out  was 
17 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

the  man  who  had  enlisted  to  fight  the 
swarming  legions  of  Germany. 

He  did  not  invest  in  any  more  live  stock 
that  fall.  He  sold  all  of  the  oats  and  straw 
that  he  did  not  need  for  the  wintering  of  his 
two  mares  and  two  cows.  He  did  not  look 
for  a  job  in  the  lumber  woods.  His 
potatoes  were  a  clean  and  heavy  crop;  and 
he  went  to  Stanley  to  sell  them.  That  was 
early  in  October. 

The  storekeeper  there  was  a  man  named 
Hammond,  who  dealt  in  farm  produce  on 
a  large  scale  and  who  shipped  to  the  cities 
of  the  province.  He  engaged  to  take 
Peter's  crop  at  a  good  price,  then  talked 
about  the  war.  One  of  his  sons,  a  lieuten- 
ant in  the  militia,  had  sailed  with  the  first 
contingent.  They  talked  of  that  young 
man  and  Henry  and  others  who  had  gone. 

"I  am  off  with  the  next  lot,"  said  Peter. 
18 


CALL  COMES  TO  BEAVER  DAM 

"That  will  be  soon  enough,"  said  the  mer- 
chant thoughtfully.  "My  daughter,  Vivia, 
has  been  visiting  in  Fredericton,  and  she 
tells  me  there  is  talk  of  a  second  division 
already.  Jim  says  he  is  going  with  the  next 
lot,  too.  That  will  leave  me  without  a  son 
at  all,  but  I  haven't  the  face  to  try  to  talk 
him  out  of  it." 

Peter  accepted  an  invitation  to  have 
dinner  with  the  Hammonds.  He  knew  the 
other  members  of  the  family  slightly — Mrs. 
Hammond,  Vivia  and  Jim.  Jim,  who  was 
a  year  or  two  older  than  Peter,  was  a  thick- 
set, dull-looking  young  man  with  a  reputa- 
tion as  a  shrewd  trader.  He  was  his 
father's  chief  assistant  in  the  business. 
Patrick,  the  son  who  had  sailed  with  the 
first  contingent,  had  a  reputation  as  a  fisher- 
man and  hunter,  which  meant  that  he  was 
considered  as  frivolous  and  that  he  had  no 
19 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

standing  at  all  as  a  business  man.  Vivia, 
the  daughter,  resembled  Patrick  rather  than 
Jim.  She  was  about  seventeen  years  old. 
Peter,  who  had  not  seen  her  for  twelve 
months,  wondered  how  such  a  heavy  duffer 
as  Jim  Hammond  came  by  such  a  sister. 

During  the  meal  Peter  paid  a  great  deal 
of  attention  to  everything  Vivia  Hammond 
said,  and  Vivia  did  more  talking  than  any- 
one else  at  the  table;  and  yet  by  the  time 
Peter  was  on  the  road  for  Beaver  Dam  he 
could  not  remember  a  dozen  words  of  all 
the  hundreds  she  had  spoken.  Likewise, 
he  attended  her  with  his  eyes  as  faithfully 
as  with  his  ears ;  and  yet  by  the  time  he  was 
halfway  home  his  mind's  picture  of  her  was 
all  gone  to  glimmering  fragments.  The 
more  he  concentrated  his  thoughts  upon  her 
the  less  clearly  could  he  see  her. 

He  laughed  at  himself.  He  could  not 
20 


CALL  COMES  TO  BEAVER  DAM 

remember  ever  having  been  in  a  like  diffi- 
culty before.  Well,  he  could  afford  to 
laugh,  for,  after  all,  he  lived  within  a 
reasonable  distance  of  her  and  could  drive 
over  again  any  day  if  his  defective  memory 
troubled  him  seriously.  And  that  is 
exactly  what  he  did, — and  on  the  very  next 

day  at  that, half  believing  even  himself 

that  he  went  to  talk  about  enlisting,  and  the 
war  in  general,  with  her  heavy  brother. 
He  did  not  see  Jim  on  that  occasion,  and 
during  a  ten-minutes'  interview  with  Vivia 
he  did  not  say  more  than  a  dozen  words. 

On  the  4th  of  November  Peter  read  in  the 
Fredericton  Harvester  that  recruiting  had 
begun  in  the  city  of  St.  John  for  the  26th 
Infantry  Battalion,  a  newly  authorized  unit 
for  overseas  service.  The  family  circle  at 
Beaver  Dam  sat  up  late  that  night.  Peter 
talked  excitedly,  and  the  others  listened  in 
21 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

silence.  Dick's  eyes  shone  in  the  lamp- 
light. 

Peter  drove  over  to  Stanley  early  the  next 
morning  and  there  took  the  train  to  Fred- 
ericton,  and  from  Fredericton  to  St.  John. 
He  felt  no  military  thrill.  Loneliness  and 
homesickness  weighed  on  him  already — 
loneliness  for  his  people,  for  the  wide  home 
kitchen  and  bright  sitting-room,  for  his  own 
fields. 

He  reached  the  big  city  by  the  sea  after 
dark.  The  traffic  of  the  hard  streets,  the 
foggy  lights  and  the  heedless,  hurrying 
crowds  of  people  added  bewilderment  to  his 
loneliness.  With  his  baggage  at  his  feet,  he 
stood  in  the  station  and  gazed  miserably 
around. 

Peter  Starkley  did  not  stand  there  un- 
noticed. Dozens  of  the  people  who  pushed 
past  him  eyed  him  with  interest  and  won- 
22 


I   CAN'T  MAKE   YOU  OUT,     SAID   THE    SERGEANT. 


CALL  COMES  TO  BEAVER  DAM 

dered  what  he  was  waiting  for.  He  was  so 
evidently  not  of  the  city.  He  looked  at 
once  rustic  and  distinguished.  But  no  one 
spoke  to  him  until  a  sergeant  in  a  khaki 
service  uniform  caught  sight  of  him. 

"I  can't  make  you  out,"  said  the  sergeant, 
stepping  up  to  him. 

"I  can  place  you,"  he  said.  "You're  a 
sergeant." 

"Right,"  returned  the  other.  "And 
you're  from  the  country.  Your  big  felt  hat 
tells  me  so — and  your  tanned  face.  But  I 
can  see  that  you're  a  person  of  some  impor- 
tance where  you  come  from." 

Peter  blushed.  "I  am  a  farmer  and  a 
trooper  in  the  8th  Hussars,  and  I  have  come 
here  to  enlist  for  overseas  with  the  new  in- 
fantry battalion,"  he  said. 

"That's  what  I  hoped!"  exclaimed  the 
sergeant.  "Come  along  with  me,  lad.  You 

23 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

are  for  the  26th  Canadian  Overseas  In- 
fantry Battalion." 

The  sergeant,  whose  name  was  Hammer, 
was  a  cheery,  friendly  fellow.  He  was  also 
a  very  keen  soldier  and  entertained  a  high 
opinion  of  the  military  qualities  of  the  new 
battalion.  On  reaching  the  armory  of  the 
local  militia  regiment,  now  being  used  as 
headquarters  of  the  new  unit,  Hammer  led 
Peter  straight  to  the  medical  officer.  The 
doctor  found  nothing  the  matter  with  the 
recruit  from  Beaver  Dam.  Then  Hammer 
paraded  him  before  the  adjutant.  Peter 
answered  a  few  questions,  took  a  solemn 
oath  and  signed  a  paper. 

"Now  you're  a  soldier,  a  regular  soldier," 
said  the  sergeant  and  slapped  him  on  the 
back.  "Come  along  now,  and  in  half  an 
hour  I'll  have  you  fitted  into  a  uniform  as 

trim  as  my  own." 

24 


CALL  COMES  TO  BEAVER  DAM 


Within  a  month  Peter  Starkley  had  dis- 
tinguished himself  as  a  steady  soldier;  he 
had  attained  to  the  rank  of  lance  corporal, 
and  then  of  corporal.  His  steadiness  was 
largely  owing  to  homesickness.  Of  his  few 
intimates  the  closest  was  Sergt.  Hammer. 

Jim  Hammond  did  not  join  the  regiment 
until  close  upon  Christmas.  He  was  found 
physically  fit;  and,  as  a  result  of  a  request 
made  by  Peter  to  Hammer  and  by  the  ser- 
geant to  Lieut.  Scammell,  and  by  the  lieu- 
tenant to  the  adjutant,  he  became  a  member 
of  the  same  platoon  as  Peter.  Not  only 
that,  he  became  one  of  Hammer's  section, 
in  which  Peter  was  a  corporal. 

Peter  felt  that  he  should  like  to  be  good 

friends  with  Jim  Hammond,  but  he  did  not 

give  a  definite  reason  even  to  himself  for 

that  wish.     Jim,   in  his  own  person,  was 

25 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

not  attractive  to  him.  Peter  felt  misgivings 
when  Jim,  within  two  days  of  donning  his 
uniform,  began  to  grumble  about  the  sever- 
ity of  the  training.  Three  days  later  Dave 
Hammer,  in  his  official  capacity  as  a  section 
commander,  fell  upon  Jim  Hammond  in 
his  official  capacity  as  a  private  soldier. 
Reason  and  justice,  as  well  as  authority, 
were  with  the  sergeant.  Jim  came  to  Peter 
that  evening. 

"Look  a-here,  who  does  Dave  Hammer 
think  he  is,  anyhow?"  he  asked. 

"I  guess  he  knows  who  he  is,"  replied 
Peter. 

"Well,  whoever  he  is,"  Hammond  de- 
clared wrathfully,  "I  won't  be  bawled  out 
by  him.  I  guess  I'm  as  good  a  man  as  he  is 
— and  better." 

"You'll  have  lots  of  chances,  from  now 
on,  to  show  how  good  a  man  you  are.  Act- 
26 


CALL  COMES  TO  BEAVER  DAM 

ing  as  you  did  on  the  route  march  this  after- 
noon doesn't  show  it." 

Hammond's  face  darkened. 

"Is  that  so?"  he  retorted.  "Well,  I'll  tell 
you  now  I  didn't  come  soldiering  to  be 
taught  my  business  by  you  or  any  other 
bushwhacker  from  Beaver  Dam.  You  got 
two  stripes,  I  see.  I'd  have  two  stars  if  I 
took  to  licking  people's  boots  the  way  you 
do,  Peter  Starkley." 

Peter  bent  forward,  and  his  lean  face 
hardened,  and  his  dark  eyes  glinted  coldly. 

"I  don't  want  to  have  trouble  with  you, 
Jim,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  was  no  more 
than  a  whisper,  "but  it  will  happen  if  you 
don't  look  out.  I  don't  lick  any  man's 
boots!  If  I  hear  another  word  like  that 
out  of  you,  I'll  lick  something — and  that 
will  be  you!  Do  you  get  me?" 

He  looked  dangerous.  Hammond  tried 
27 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

to  glare  him  down,  but  failed.  Ham- 
mond's own  eyes  wavered.  He  grunted 
and  turned  away.  The  next  morning  he 
applied  for  a  Christmas  pass,  which  was  re- 
fused on  the  ground  that  the  men  who  had 
joined  first  should  be  the  first  to  receive 
passes.  He  felt  thoroughly  ill-used. 


28 


CHAPTER  II 

JIM  HAMMOND  DOES  NOT  RETURN 
TO  DUTY 

PETER  STARKLEY  got  home  to 
Beaver  Dam  for  New  Year's  Day 
on  a  six  days'  pass.  Jim  Hammond 
had  also  tried  to  get  a  pass,  but  he  had 
failed.  Peter  found  his  homesickness  in- 
creased by  those  six  days;  but  he  made 
every  effort  to  hide  his  emotions.  He 
talked  bravely  of  his  duties  and  his  com- 
rades, and  especially  of  Dave  Hammer. 
He  said  nothing  about  Jim  Hammond  ex- 
cept when  questioned,  and  then  as  little  as 
possible. 

He  polished  his  buttons  and  badges  every 

morning  and   rolled  his  putties  as  if  for 

parade.     The    smartness    of    his    carriage 

gave  a  distinction  even  to  the  unlovely  khaki 

29 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

service  uniform  of  a  British  noncommis- 
sioned officer.  He  looked  like  a  guardsman 
and  felt  like  a  schoolboy  who  dreaded  the 
approaching  term.  He  haunted  the  barns 
and  stables  of  the  home  farm  and  of  his 
own  place  and  tramped  the  snow-laden 
woods  and  blanketed  fields.  In  spite  of 
his  efforts  to  think  only  of  the  harsh  and 
foreign  task  before  him,  he  dreamed  of 
clearings  here  and  crops  there.  The  keen, 
kindly  eyes  of  his  parents  saw  through  to 
his  heart. 

One  day  of  the  six  he  spent  in  the  village 
of  Stanley.  He  called  first  at  Hammond's 
store,  where  he  tried  to  give  Mr.  Hammond 
the  impression  that  he  had  dropped  in 
casually,  but  as  he  had  nothing  to  sell  and 
did  not  wish  to  buy  anything  he  failed  to 
hoodwink  the  storekeeper.  Mr.  Hammond 
was  cordial,  but  seemed  worried. 

30 


JIM  HAMMOND 


He  complimented  Peter  on  his  promotion 
and  his  soldierly  appearance. 

"Glad  you  got  home,"  he  said.  "Wish 
Jim  could  have  come  along  with  you,  but 
he  writes  as  how  they  won't  give  him  a 
pass.  Seems  to  me  it  ain't  more  than  only 
fair  to  let  all  the  boys  come  home  for  Christ- 
mas or  New  Year's." 

"Then  there  wouldn't  be  any  one  left  to 
carry  on,"  said  Peter.  "They've  fixed  it 
so  that  those  who  have  been  longest  on  the 
job  get  the  first  passes ;  but  I  guess  every  one 
will  get  home  for  a  few  days  before  we 
sail." 

"Jim  says  the  training — the  drill  and  all 
that — is  mighty  hard,"  continued  Mr.  Ham- 
mond. 

"Some  find  it  so,  and  some  don't,"  re- 
plied Peter  awkwardly.     "I  guess  it's  what 
you  might  call  a  matter  of  taste." 
31 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

"Like  enough,"  said  the  storekeeper, 
scratching  his  chin.  "It's  a  matter  of 
taste — and  not  to  Jim's  taste,  that's 


sure." 


Peter  felt  relieved  to  see  that  Mr.  Ham- 
mond seemed  to  understand  the  case.  He 
was  about  to  elaborate  on  the  subject  of 
military  training  when  a  middle-aged  man 
wearing  a  bowiler  hat  and  a  fur-lined  over- 
coat turned  from  the  counter.  He  had  a 
square,  clean-shaven  face  and  very  bright 
and  active  black  eyes. 

"Excuse  me,  corporal,"  the  stranger  said, 
"but  may  I  horn  in  and  inquire  what  you 
think  of  it  yourself?" 

"You  can  ask  if  you  want  to,  Mr.  Sill," 
said  Mr.  Hammond,  "but  you  won't  hear 
any  kick  out  of  Peter  Starkley,  whether  he 
likes  it  or  not." 

"It's  easier  than  working  in  the  woods, 
32 


JIM  HAMMOND 


either  chopping  or  teaming,"  said  Peter 
pleasantly,  "and  I'll  bet  a  dollar  it  is  a 
sight  easier  than  the  real  fighting  will 
be." 

"That's  the  way  to  look  at  it,  corporal," 
said  the  stranger.  "I  guess  that  in  a  war 
like  this  a  man  has  to  make  up  his  mind 
to  take  the  fun  and  the  ferocity,  the  music 
and  the  mud,  and  the  pie  and  the  pain, 
just  as  they  come." 

"I  guess  so,"  said  Peter. 

The  stranger  shook  his  hand  cordially 
and  just  before  he  turned  away  remarked, 
"Maybe  you  and  I  will  meet  again  sooner 
than  you  expect." 

"Who  is  he,  and  what's  he  driving  at?" 
asked  Peter,  when  the  stranger  had  left 
the  store. 

"He  is  a  Yank,  and  a  traveler  for  Mad- 
dock  &  Co.  of  St.  John,  and  his  name  is 
33 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

Hiram  Sill — but  I  don't  know  what  he  is 
driving  at  any  more  than  you  do,"  replied 
Mr.  Hammond. 

The  storekeeper  invited  Peter  to  call 
round  at  the  house  and  to  stay  to  dinner  and 
for  as  long  as  he  liked  afterwards.  Peter 
accepted  the  invitation.  The  Hammond 
house  stood  beside  the  store,  but  farther  back 
from  the  road.  It  was  white  and  big,  with 
a  veranda  in  front  of  it,  a  row  of  leafless 
maples,  a  snowdrifted  lawn  and  a  picket 
fence.  Vivia  Hammond  opened  the  door 
to  his  ring.  From  behind  the  curtain  of 
the  parlor  window  she  had  seen  him  ap- 
proach. 

At  dinner  Peter  talked  more  than  was 
usual  with  him;  something  in  the  way  the 
girl  listened  to  him  inspired  him  to  conver- 
sation. At  two  o'clock  he  accompanied  her 
to  the  river  and  skated  with  her.  They 
34 


JIM  HAMMOND 


had  such  parts  of  the  river  as  were  not 
drifted  with  snow  to  themselves,  except  for 
two  little  boys.  The  little  boys,  interested 
in  Peter  as  a  military  man,  kept  them  con- 
stantly in  sight.  Peter  felt  decidedly  hos- 
tile toward  those  harmless  boys,  but  he  was 
too  shy  to  mention  it  to  Vivia.  He  was  de- 
lighted and  astonished  when  she  turned 
upon  them  at  last  and  said : 

"Billy  Brandon,  you  and  Jack  had  better 
take  off  your  skates  and  go  home." 

"I  guess  we  got  as  much  right  as  anybody 
on  this  here  river,"  replied  Billy  Brandon, 
but  there  was  a  lack  of  conviction  in  his 
voice. 

"You  were  bath  in  bed  with  grippe  only 
last  week,"  Vivia  retorted ;  "but  I'll  call  in 
at  your  house  and  ask  your  mother  about 
it  on  my  way  up  the  hill." 

The  little  boys  had  nothing  to  say  to  that. 
35 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

They  maintained  a  casual  air,  skated  in  cir- 
cles and  figures  for  a  few  minutes  and  then 
went  home.  For  ten  minutes  after  that  the 
corporal  and  the  girl  skated  in  an  electrical 
silence,  looking  everywhere  except  at  each 
other.  Then  Peter  ventured  a  slanting 
glance  across  his  left  shoulder  at  her  little 
fur-cuddled  face.  Their  eyes  met. 

"Poor  Mrs.  Brandon  can't  manage  those 
boys,"  she  said.  "But  they  are  very  good 
boys,  really.  They  do  everything  I  tell 
them." 

"Why  shouldn't  they?  But  I'm  glad 
they're  gone,  anyway,"  he  replied,  in  a  voice 
that  seemed  to  be  tangled  and  strangled  in 
the  collar  of  his  greatcoat. 

When  Vivia  and  Peter  returned  to  the 
house  the  eastern  'sky  was  eggshell  green 
and  the  west,  low  along  the  black  forests, 
as  red  as  the  draft  of  a  stove.  Their  con- 

36 


JIM  HAMMOND 


versation  had  never  fully  recovered  after 
the  incident  of  the  two  little  boys.  Won- 
derful and  amazing  thoughts  and  emotions 
churned  round  in  Peter's  head  and  heart, 
but  he  did  not  venture  to  give  voice  to  them. 
They  bewildered  him.  He  stayed  to  tea 
and  at  that  comfortable  meal  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Hammond  did  the  talking.  Vivia  and 
Peter  looked  at  each  other  only  shyly  as  if 
they  were  afraid  of  what  they  might  see  in 
each  other's  eyes. 

At  last  Peter  went  to  the  barn  and  har- 
nessed the  mare.  Then  he  returned  to  the 
house  to  say  good  night  to  the  ladies.  That 
accomplished,  Vivia  accompanied  him  to 
the  front  door.  Beyond  the  front  door,  as 
a  protection  against  icy  winds  and  drifting 
snow,  was  the  winter  porch — not  much  big- 
ger than  a  sentry  box.  Stepping  across  the 
threshold,  from  the  warm  hall  into  the 
37 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

i 
porch,  Peter  turned  and  clutched  and  held 

the  girl's  hand  across  the  threshold.  The 
tumult  of  his  heart  flooded  up  and  smoth- 
ered the  fear  in  his  brain. 

"I  never  spent  such  a  happy  day  in  all 
my  life,"  he  said. 

Vivia  said  nothing.  And  then  the  mis- 
chief got  into  the  elbow  of  the  corporal's 
right  arm.  It  twitched;  and,  since  his 
right  hand  still  clasped  Vivia's  hand,  the 
girl  was  jerked,  with  a  little  skip,  right  out 
of  the  hall  and  into  the  boxlike  porch. 

Two  seconds  later  Peter  pulled  open  the 
porch  door  and  dashed  into  the  frosty  night. 
He  jumped  into  the  pung,  and  away  went 
the  mare  as  if  something  of  her  master's 
madness  had  been  communicated  to  her. 
The  corporal  had  kissed  Vivia! 

Peter  returned  to  his  battalion  two  days 
later.  In  St.  John  he  found  everything 
38 


JIM  HAMMOND 


much  as  usual.  Hammer  was  as  brisk  and 
soldierly  as  ever,  but  Jim  Hammond  was 
more  sulky  than  before.  Peter  considered 
the  battalion  with  a  new  interest.  Life, 
even  away  from  Beaver  Dam,  seemed  more 
worth  while,  and  he  went  at  his  work  with 
a  jump.  He  wrote  twice  a  week  to  Vivia, 
spending  hours  in  the  construction  of  each 
letter  and  yet  always  leaving  out  the  things 
that  he  wanted  most  to  write.  The  girl's 
replies  were  the  results  of  a  similar  literary 
method. 

The  training  of  the  battalion  went  on, 
indoors  and  out,  day  after  day.  In  March, 
Jim  Hammond  went  home  for  six  days. 
By  that  time  he  was  known  throughout  the 
battalion  as  a  confirmed  sulker.  The  six 
days  passed ;  the  seventh  day  came  and  went 
without  sight  or  news  of  him,  and  then  the 
adjutant  wired  to  Mr.  Hammond.  No 
39 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

reply  came  from  the  storekeeper.  Lieut. 
Scammell  questioned  Peter  about  the  fam- 
ily. Peter  told  what  he  knew — that  the 
Hammonds  were  fine  people,  that  one  son 
was  an  officer  already  in  England,  and  that 
the  father  was  an  honest  and  patriotic  citi- 
zen. So  another  wire  was  sent  from  the 
orderly  room.  That,  like  the  first,  failed 
to  produce  results. 

The  adjutant,  Capt.  Long,  then  sent  for 
Peter.  This  officer  was  not  much  more  than 
five  feet  high,  despite  the  name  of  his 
fathers,  and  was  built  in  proportion.  It 
tickled  the  humor  of  the  men  to  see  such  a 
little  fellow  chase  ten  hundred  bigger  fel- 
lows round  from  morning  until  night. 

"You  are  to  go  upriver  and  find  out  why 
Private  Hammond  has  not  returned  to 
duty,"  said  the  captain. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Peter. 
40 


JIM  HAMMOND 


"Inform  me  by  wire,"  continued  the  cap- 
tain. "Use  your  brains.  I  am  sending 
you  alone,  because  I  want  to  give  Ham- 
mond a  chance  for  the  sake  of  his  brother 
overseas.  Here  are  your  pass,  your  rail- 
way warrant  and  a  chit  for  the  paymaster. 
That's  all,  Corp.  Starkley." 

Peter  saluted  and  retired.  He  reached 
Fredericton  that  night  and  the  home  vil- 
lage of  Jim  Hammond  by  noon  of  the  next 
day.  He  went  straight  to  the  store,  where 
Mr.  Hammond  greeted  him  with  astonish- 
ment. Peter  saw  no  sign  of  Jim. 

"I  didn't  expect  to  see  you  back  so  soon," 
said  Mr.  Hammond. 

"I  got  a  chance,  so  I  took  it,"  replied 
Peter.  "How's  all  the  family?" 

The  storekeeper  smiled.  "The  women- 
folk are  well,"  he  said. 

Peter  saw  that  he  had  come  suddenly  to 
41 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

the  point  where  he  must  exercise  all  the 
tact  he  possessed.  He  felt  keenly  embar- 
rassed. 

"Did  you  get  a  telegram?"  he  asked. 

"No.  Did  you  wire  us  you  were  com- 
ing?" 

"Not  that,  exactly.  You  see,  it  was  like 
this,  Mr.  Hammond:  when  Jim  didn't  get 
back  the  day  he  was  due  the  adjutant  sent 
you  a  wire,  and  when  he  didn't  get  an 
answer  he  sent  another — and  when  you 
didn't  reply  to  that  he  detailed  me  to  come 
along  and  see  what  was  wrong." 

The  storekeeper  stared  at  him.  "I  never 
got  any  telegram.  Jim  came  home  on  two 
weeks'  furlough,  and  he  has  five  days  of  it 
left.  You  and  your  adjutant  must  be 
crazy." 

"Two  weeks,"  repeated  Peter.  "It  was 
six  days  he  got." 

42 


JIM  HAMMOND 


"Six  days!  Are  you  sure  of  that,  Peter 
Starkley?" 

"As  sure  as  that's  my  name,  Mr.  Ham- 
mond. And  the  adjutant  sent  you  two 
telegrams,  asking  why  Jim  didn't  return  to 
duty  when  his  pass  was  up — and  he  didn't 
get  any  answer.  If  you  didn't  get  one  or 
other  of  those  telegrams,  then  there  is  some- 
thing wrong  somewhere." 

Mr.  Hammond's  face  clouded.  "I  didn't 
get  any  wire,  Peter — and  Jim  went  away 
day  before  yesterday,  to  visit  some  friends," 
he  said. 

They  eyed  each  other  in  silence  for  a 
little  while ;  both  were  bitterly  embarrassed, 
and  the  storekeeper  was  numbed  with 
shame. 

"1*11  go  for  him,"  he  said.  "If  I  fetch 
him  to  you  here,  will  you  promise  to — to 
keep  the  truth  of  it  quiet,  Peter — from  his 
43 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

mother  and  sister  and  the  folk  about  here?" 

"I'll  do  the  best  I  can,"  promised  the 
corporal,  "but  not  for  Jim's  sake,  mind  you, 
Mr.  Hammond.  Capt.  Long  is  for  giving 
him  a  chance  because  of  his  brother,  Pat, 
over  on  Salisbury  Plain — and  that's  why  he 
sent  me  alone,  instead  of  sending  a  sergeant 
with  an  escort." 

"I'll  go  fetch  him,  Peter,"  said  the  other, 
in  a  shaking  voice.  "You  go  along  to 
Beaver  Dam  and  come  back  to-morrow — to 
see  Vivia.  When  Jim  and  I  turn  up  you 
meet  him  just  like  it  was  by  chance.  Keep 
your  mouth  shut,  Peter.  Not  a  word  to  a 
living  soul  about  his  only  having  six  days. 
He's  not  well,  and  "that's  the  truth." 

A  dull  anger  was  awake  in  Peter  by  this 
time. 

"Something  the  matter  with  his  feet,"  he 
said  and  left  the  store. 
44 


JIM  HAMMOND 


Here  he  was,  told  to  be  tactful  by  Capt. 
Long  and  to  keep  his  mouth  shut  by  Mr. 
Hammond,  all  on  account  of  a  sulky,  lazy, 
bad-tempered  fellow  who  had  been  a  dis- 
grace to  the  battalion  since  the  day  he 
joined  it.  And  not  a  word  about  stopping 
for  dinner! 

He  crossed  the  road  to  the  hotel,  made 
arrangements  to  be  driven  out  to  Beaver 
Dam  and  then  ate  a  lonely  dinner.  He 
thought  of  Vivia  Hammond  only  a  few 
yards  away  from  him,  yet  unconscious  of 
his  proximity — and  he  wanted  to  punch  the 
head  of  her  brother  Jim.  He  drove  away 
from  the  hotel  up  the  long  hill  without  ven- 
turing a  glance  at  the  windows  of  the  big 
white  house  on  the  other  side  of  the  road. 

The  family  at  Beaver  Dam  accepted  his 
visit  without  question.  No  mention  was 
made  of  Jim  Hammond  that  night.  Peter 
45 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

was  up  and  out  early  the  next  morning,  lend- 
ing a  hand  with  the  feeding  and  milk- 
ing. 

After  breakfast  he  and  Dick  went  over 
to  his  own  place  to  have  a  look  at  his  house 
and  barns. 

"Frank  Sacobie  came  home  last  week," 
said  Dick.  "He's  been  out  to  see  us  twice. 
He  wants  to  enlist  in  your  outfit,  but  I  am 
trying  to  hold  him  off  till  next  year  so's  we 
can  go  over  together." 

"You  babies  had  better  keep  your  bibs  on 
a  few  years  longer,"  said  Peter.  "I  guess 
there  will  be  lots  of  time  for  all  of  you  to 
fight  in  this  war  without  forcing  yourselves 
under  glass." 

They  rounded  a  spur  of  spruces  and  saw 

Sacobie  approaching  on  snowshoes  across 

the  white  meadows.     He  had  grown  taller 

and  deeper  in  the  chest  since  Peter  had  last 

46 


JIM  HAMMOND 


seen  him.  The  greeting  was  cordial  but  not 
wordy.  Sacobie  turned  and  accompanied 
them. 

"I  see  Jim  Hammond  yesterday,  out  Pike 
Settlement  way,"  he  said. 

"That  so?"  returned  Peter,  trying  to 
seem  uninterested. 

"No  uniform  on,  neither,  and  drinkin' 
some,"  continued  Sacobie.  "Says  he's  got 
his  discharge  from  that  outfit  because  it 
ain't  reckoned  as  first-class  and  has 
been  asked  to  be  an  officer  in  another  out- 
fit." 

Then  Peter  forgot  his  instructions.  Jim 
Hammond  too  good  for  the  26th  battalion! 
Jim  Hammond  offered  a  commission!  His 
indignant  heart  sent  his  blood  racing 
through  him. 

"He's  a  liar!"  he  cried.     "Yes,  and  a  de- 
serter, too,  by  thunder!" 
4Y 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

Dick  was  astonished,  but  Frank  Sacobie 
received  the  information  calmly,  without  so 
much  as  a  flicker  of  the  eyelids. 

"I  think  that  all  the  time  I  listen  to  him," 
he  said.  "I  figger  to  get  his  job,  anyway, 
if  he  lie  or  tell  the  truth.  I  go  down  to- 
morrow, Peter,  and  you  tell  the  colonel 
how  I  make  a  darn  sight  better  soldier  than 
Jim  Hammond." 

Peter  gripped  the  others  each  by  an 
arm. 

"I  shouldn't  have  said  that,"  he  cautioned 
them.  "Forget  it!  You  boys  have  got  to 
keep  it  under  your  hats,  but  I  guess  it's  up 
to  me  to  take  a  jog  out  Pike  Settlement  way. 
If  you  boys  say  a  word  about  it,  you  get  in 
wrong  with  me  and  you  get  me  in  wrong 
with  a  whole  heap  of  folks." 

They  turned  and  went  back  to  Beaver 
Dam.  There  they  hitched  the  mares  to  the 
48 


JIM  HAMMOND 


big  red  pung  and  stowed  in  their  blankets 
and  half  a  bag  of  oats. 

"I  can't  telil  you  where  I'm  going  or 
what  for,  but  only  that  it  is  a  military  duty," 
said  Peter  in  answer  to  the  questions  of  the 
family. 

He  took  Dick  and  Frank  Sacobie  with 
him.  Once  they  got  beyond  the  outskirts  of 
the  home  settlement  they  found  heavy  sled- 
ding. At  noon  they  halted,  blanketed  and 
baited  the  mares,  boiled  the  kettle  and 
lunched.  The  wide,  white  roadway  before 
them,  winding  between  walls  of  green-black 
spruces  and  gray  maples,  was  marked  with 
only  the  tracks  of  one  pair  of  horses  and  one 
pair  of  sled  runners — evidently  made  the 
day  before.  Peter  guessed  them  to  be  those 
of  Mr.  Hammond's  team,  but  he  said  noth- 
ing about  that  to  his  companions. 

Here  and  there  they  passed  drifted  clear- 
49 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

ings  and  little  houses  sending  blue  feathers 
of  smoke  into  the  bright  air.  They  came  to 
places  where  the  team  that  had  passed  the 
previous  day  had  been  stuck  in  the  drifts  and 
laboriously  dug  out. 

They  were  within  two  miles  of  the  settle- 
ment, between  heavy  woods  fronted  with 
tangled  alders,  when  the  cracking  whang! 
of  exploding  cordite  sounded  in  the  under- 
brush. The  mares  plunged,  then  stood. 
The  reins  slipped  from  Peter's  mittened 
hands. 

"F-m  hit,  boys!"  he  said  and  then  sagged 
over  across  Dick's  knees. 

They  laid  him  on  hay  and  horse  blankets 
in  the  bottom  of  the  pung  and  covered  him 
with  fur  robes.  Then  Sacobie  got  up  in 
front  and  drove. 

No  sound  except  the  rapping  of  a  wood- 
pecker came  from  the  woods.  Peter 
50 


JIM  HAMMOND 


breathed  regularly.  Presently  he  opened 
his  eyes. 

"It's  in  the  ribs,  by  the  feel  of  it — but 
it  doesn't  hurt  much,"  he  said.  "Felt 
like  a  kick  from  a  horse  at  first.  Remem- 
ber not  to  say  anything  about  Jim  Ham- 
mond." 

They  put  him  to  bed  at  the  first  farm- 
house they  reached.  All  his  clothing  on 
the  right  side  was  stiff  with  blood.  Dick 
bandaged  the  wound ;  and  a  doctor  arrived 
two  hours  later.  The  bullet  had  nipped 
in  and  out,  splintering  a  rib,  and  lay  just 
beneath  the  skin.  Peter  had  bled  a  good 
deal,  but  not  to  a  dangerous  extent. 

Before  sunrise  the  next  morning  Dick 
and  Frank  Sacobie  set  out  on  their  return 
journey,  taking  with  them  a  brief  telegram 
and  a  letter  for  Capt.  Long.  Peter  had 
dictated  the  message,  but  had  written  the 
51 


letter  with  great  effort,  one  wavery  word 
after  another. 

Mr.  Hammond  and  John  Starkley 
reached  Pike  Settlement  late  at  night.  The 
storekeeper  seemed  broken  in  spirit,  but 
some  color  came  back  to  his  face  when  he 
saw  Peter  lying  there  in  the  bed  at  the  farm- 
house with  as  cheerful  an  air  as  if  he  had 
only  strained  his  ankle. 

"I  must  see  you  a  few  minutes  alone  be- 
fore I  leave,"  he  whispered,  stooping  over 
the  bed. 

"Don't  worry,"  answered  Peter. 

John  Starkley  was  vastly  relieved  to  find 
his  son  doing  so  well.  His  bewilderment 
that  any  one  in  that  country  should  pull  a 
trigger  on  Peter  almost  swamped  his  indig- 
nation. The  more  he  thought  it  over  the 
more  bewildered  he  became. 

"You  haven't  an  enemy  in  the  world, 
52 


JIM  HAMMOND 


Peter — except  the  Germans,"  he  said.  "But 
that  was  no -chance  shot.  If  it  had  been  an 
accident,  the  fellow  with  the  rifle  would 
have  come  out  to  lend  a  hand." 

"I  guess  that's  so,"  replied  Peter. 
"Maybe  it  was  a  German.  It  means  a  lot 
to  the  Kaiser  to  keep  me  out  of  this  war." 

His  father  smiled.  "Joking  aside,  lad," 
he  said,  "who  do  you  suppose  it  was? 
What  was  the  bullet?  Many  a  murderer 
has  been  traced  before  now  on  a  less  likely 
clue  than  a  bullet." 

"Isn't  the  bullet  on  the  table  there,  Mr. 
Hammond?  The  doctor  gave  it  to  me,  and 
I  chucked  it  somewhere — over  there  or 
somewhere." 

They  looked  in  vain  for  the  bullet.  Later, 
when  the  guests  and  the  household  were  at 
supper,  Mr.  Hammond  excused  himself 
from  table  and  ran  up  to  Peter's  room. 

53 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

He  closed  the  door  behind  him,  leaned 
over  the  bed  and  grasped  Peter's  left  hand 
in  both  of  his. 

"I  did  my  best,"  he  whispered.  "I 
found  him  and  told  him  you  had  been  sent 
because  the  officer  wanted  to  give  him  a 
chance.  But  he  had  been  drinking  heavy. 
He  wasn't  himself,  Peter — he  was  like  a 
madman.  I  begged  him  to  come  back  with 
me,  but  he  wouldn't  hear  reason  or  kind- 
ness. He  knocked  me  down — me,  his  own 
father — and  got  away  from  that  house. 
What  are  you  going  to  do,  Peter?  You 
are  a  man,  Starkley — a  big  man — big 
enough  to  be  merciful.  What  d'you  mean 
to  do?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Peter.  "I  came  to  find 
Jim,  and  I  haven't  found  him.  I  got  shot 
instead  by  some  one  I  haven't  seen  hair, 
hide  or  track  of.  It's  up  to  the  army  to 

54 


JIM  HAMMOND 


find  Jim,  if  they  still  want  him;  but  as  far 
as  I  am  concerned  he  may  be  back  with  the 
battalion  this  minute  for  all  I  know.  I 
hope  he  is.  As  for  the  fellow  who  made  a 
target  of  me,  well,  he  didn't  kill  me,  and  I 
don't  hold  a  grudge  against  him." 

Mr.  Hammond  went  home  the  first  thing 
in  the  morning.  John  Starkley  waited  un- 
til the  doctor  called  again  and  dressed  the 
wound  and  said  he  had  never  seen  any  one 
take  a  splintered  rib  and  a  hole  in  the  side 
so  well  as  Peter. 

"If  he  keeps  on  like  this,  you'll  be  able 
to  take  him  home  in  ten  days  or  so,"  said 
the  doctor. 

So  John  Starkley  returned  to  Beaver 
Dam,  delivered  the  good  news  to  his  family 
and  heard  in  return  that  young  Frank 
Sacobie  had  gone  to  St.  John  and  joined  the 
26th. 

55 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  VETERANS  OF  OTHER  DAYS 

WHEN  Peter  was  able  to  travel, 
he  was  taken  home  to  Beaver 
Dam,  and  there  a  medical 
officer,  a  major  in  spurs,  examined  him  and 
congratulated  him  on  being  alive.  Peter 
was  given  six  months'  sick  leave;  and  that, 
he  knew,  killed  his  chance  of  crossing  the 
ocean  with  his  battali'on.  He  protested, 
but  the  officer  told  him  that,  whether  in 
bed  in  his  father's  house  or  with  his  platoon, 
he  was  still  in  the  army  and  would  have  to 
do  as  he  was  told.  The  officer  said  it 
kindly  and  added  that  as  soon  as  he  was 
fit  he  should  return  to  his  battalion,  whether 
it  was  in  Canada,  England  or  Flanders. 

Jim    Hammond    vanished.     The    army 
marked  him  as  a  deserter,  and  even  his  own 
56 


VETERANS  OF  OTHER  DAYS 

battalion  forgot  him.  Confused  rumors 
circulated  round  his  home  village  for  a 
little  while  and  then  faded  and  expired. 
As  Jim  Hammond  vanished  from  the 
knowledge  and  thought  of  men,  so  vanished 
the  mysterious  rifleman  who  had  splintered 
Peter's  rib. 

Spring  brought  the  great  news  of  the 
stand  of  the  First  Canadian  Division  at 
Ypres — the  stand  of  the  few  against  the 
many,  of  the  Canadian  militia  against  the 
greatest  and  most  ruthless  fighting  machine 
of  the  whole  world.  The  German  army 
was  big  and  ready,  but  it  was  not  great  as 
we  know  greatness  now.  The  little  Bel- 
gians had  already  checked  it  and  pierced 
the  joints  of  its  armor;  the  French  had 
beaten  it  against  odds;  the  little  old  army 
of  England,  with  its  monocles  and  its  tea 
and  its  pouter-chested  sergeant  majors,  had 

5? 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

outshot  it  and  outfought  it  at  every  meeting; 
and  now  three  brigades  of  Canadian  in- 
fantry and  a  few  batteries  of  Canadian  ar- 
tillery had  stood  undaunted  before  its  del- 
uge of  metal  and  strangling  gas  and  held 
it  back  from  the  open  road  to  Calais  and 
Paris. 

Lieut.  Pat  Hammond  wrote  home  about 
the  battle.  He  had  been  in  the  edge  of  it 
and  had  escaped  unhurt.  Henry  Stark- 
ley,  of  the  First  Field  Company,  was  there, 
too.  He  received  a  slight  wound.  Pri- 
vate letters  and  the  great  stories  of  the 
newspapers  thrilled  the  hearts  of  thousands 
of  peaceful,  unheroic  folk.  Volunteers 
flowed  in  from  lumber  camps  and  farms. 

In  May  Dick  Starkley  made  the  great 
move  of  his  young  life.  He  was  now  seven- 
teen years  old  and  sound  and  strong.  He 
saw  that  Peter  could  not  get  away  with  his 
58 


VETERANS  OF  OTHER  DAYS 

battalion — that,  unless  something  unex- 
pected happened,  the  Second  Canadian  Di- 
vision would  get  away  without  a  Starkley  of 
Beaver  Dam. 

So  he  did  the  unexpected  thing:  he  went 
away  to  St.  John  without  a  word,  introduced 
himself  to  Sgt.  Dave  Hammer  as  Peter's 
brother,  added  a  year  to  his  age  and  became 
a  member  of  the  26th  Battalion.  He  found 
Frank  Sacobie  there,  already  possessed  of 
all  the  airs  of  an  old  soldier. 

Dick  sent  a  telegram  to  his  father  and  a 
long,  affectionate,  confused  letter  to  his 
mother.  His  parents  understood  and  for- 
gave and  went  to  St.  John  and  told  him  so 
— and  Peter  sent  word  that  he,  too,  under- 
stood ;  and  Dick  was  happy.  Then  with  all 
his  thought  and  energy  and  ambition  he  set 
to  work  to  make  himself  a  good  soldier. 

Peter  did  not  grumble  again  about  his 
59 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

sick  leave.  His  wound  healed ;  and  as  the 
warm  days  advanced  he  grew  stronger  with 
every  day.  He  had  been  wounded  in  the 
performance  of  his  duty  as  surely  as  if  a 
German  had  fired  the  shot  across  the  mud 
of  No  Man's  Land;  so  he  accepted  those 
extra  months  in  the  place  and  life  he  loved 
with  a  gratitude  that  was  none  the  less  deep 
for  being  silent. 

In  June  the  Battalion  embarked  for  Eng- 
land, in  strength  eleven  hundred  noncom- 
missioned officers  and  men  and  forty-two 
officers.  After  an  uneventful  voyage  of 
eleven  days  they  reached  Devenport,  in 
England,  on  the  twenty-fourth  day  of  the 
month.  The  three  other  battalions  of  the 
brigade  had  reached  England  a  month  be- 
fore; the  a6th  joined  them  at  the  training 
camps  in  Kent  and  immediately  set  to  work 
to  learn  the  science  of  modern  warfare. 
60 


VETERANS  OF  OTHER  DAYS 

They  toiled  day  and  night  with  vigor  and 
constancy;  and  before  fall  the  battalion  was 
declared  efficient  for  service  at  the  front. 

Both  Dick  Starkley  and  Frank  Sacobie 
throve  on  the  hard  work.  The  musketry 
tests  proved  Sacobie  to  be  one  of  the  best 
five  marksmen  in  the  battalion.  Dick  was 
a  good  shot,  too,  but  fell  far  below  his  friend 
at  the  longer  ranges.  In  drill,  bombing 
and  physical  training,  Dick  showed  himself 
a  more  apt  pupil  than  the  Malecite.  At 
trench  digging  and  route  marching  there 
was  nothing  to  choose  between  them,  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  Sacobie  had  the  ad- 
vantage of  a  few  inches  in  length  of  leg. 
Both  were  good  soldiers,  popular  with  their 
comrades  and  trusted  by  their  officers. 
Both  were  in  Dave  Hammer's  section  and 
Mr.  Scammell's  platoon. 

One  afternoon  in  August  Henry  Stark- 
61 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

ley  turned  up  at  Westenhanger,  on  seven 
days'  leave  from  France.  He  looked  years 
older  than  when  Dick  had  last  seen  him  and 
thinner  of  face,  and  on  his  left  breast  was 
stitched  the  ribbon  of  the  military  cross. 
He  obtained  a  pass  for  Dick  and  took  him 
up  to  London.  They  put  up  at  a  quiet  hotel 
off  the  Strand,  at  which  Henry  had  stopped 
on  his  frequent  week-end  visits  to  town  from 
Salisbury  Plain.  As  they  were  engaged  in 
rilling  in  the  complicated  and  exhaustive 
registration  form  the  hall  porter  gave  Henry 
three  letters  and  told  him  that  a  gentle- 
man had  called  several  times  to  see  him. 

"What  name?"  asked  Henry. 

"That  he  didn't  tell  me,  sir,"  replied  the 
porter,  "but  as  it  was  him  wrote  the  letters 
you  have  in  your  hand  you'll  soon  know, 


sir." 


Henry  opened  one  of  the  envelopes  and 
62 


VETERANS  OF  OTHER  DAYS 

turned  the  inclosure  over  in  quest  of  the 
writer's  signature.  There  it  was — J.  A. 
Starkley-Davenport  All  three  letters  were 
from  the  same  hand,  penned  at  dates 
several  weeks  apart.  They  said  that  be- 
fore her  marriage  the  writer's  mother  had 
been  a  Miss  Mary  Starkley,  daughter  of  a 
London  merchant  by  the  name  of  Richard 
Starkley.  Richard  Starkley,  a  colonial  by 
birth  with  trade  connections  with  the  West 
Indies,  had  come  from  Beaver  Dam  in  the 
province  of  New  Brunswick.  The  letters 
said  further  that  their  writer  had  read  in 
the  casualty  lists  the  name  of  Lieut.  Henry 
Starkley  of  the  Canadian  Engineers,  and 
that  after  diligent  inquiry  he  had  learned 
that  this  same  officer  had  registered  at  the 
Canadian  High  Commissioner's  office  in 
October,  1914,  and  given  his  London  address 
as  the  Tudor  Hotel.  Failing  to  obtain  any 
63 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

further  information  concerning  Henry 
Starkley,  the  writer  had  kept  a  constant  eye 
on  the  Tudor  Hotel.  He  begged  Mr. 
Henry  Starkley  to  ring  up  Mayfair  2607, 
without  loss  of  time,  should  any  one  of 
these  letters  ever  come  to  his  hand. 

"What's  his  hurry,  I  wonder?"  remarked 
Henry.  "After  three  generations  without  a 
word  I  guess  he'll  have  to  wait  until  to-mor- 
row morning  to  hear  from  the  Starkleys 
of  Beaver  Dam." 

"Why  not  let  him  wait  for  three  more 
generations?"  suggested  Dick.  "His  grand- 
father, that  London  merchant,  soon  forgot 
about  the  people  back  in  the  woods  at 
Beaver  Dam.  Since  the  second  battle  of 
Ypres,  this  lad  with  the  hitched-up-double 
name  wants  to  be  seen  round  with  you, 
Henry." 

"If  that's  all,  he  does  not  want  much," 
64 


VETERANS  OF  OTHER  DAYS 

said  Henry.  "We'll  take  a  look  at  him, 
anyway.  Don't  forget  that  the  first  Stark- 
ley  of  Beaver  Dam  was  once  an  English 
soldier  and  that  there  was  a  first  battle  of 
Ypres  before  there  was  a  second." 

The  brothers,  the  lieutenant  of  engineers 
and  the  infantry  private,  had  dinner  at  a 
restaurant  where  there  were  shaded  candles 
and  music;  then  they  went  to  a  theater. 
Although  the  war  was  now  only  a  year  old, 
London  had  already  grown  accustomed  to 
the  "gentleman  ranker."  Brothers,  cousins 
and  even  sons  of  officers  in  the  little  old 
army  were  now  private  soldiers  and  non- 
commissioned officers  in  the  big  new  army. 
The  uniform  was  the  great  thing.  Rank 
badges  denoted  differences  of  degree,  not 
of  kind.  So  Lieut.  Henry  Starkley  and 
Private  Dick  Starkley,  together  at  their 
little  luxurious  table  for  two  and  later  el- 
65 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

bow  to  elbow  at  the  theater,  did  not  cause 
comment.  Immediately  after  breakfast  the 
next  morning  Henry  rang  up  the  Mayfair 
number.  A  voice  of  inquiring  deference, 
a  voice  that  suggested  great  circumspection 
and  extreme  polish,  answered  him.  Henry 
asked  for  Mr.  Starkley-Davenport. 

"You  want  the  captain,  sir,"  corrected 
the  voice.  "Mr.  David  was  killed  at 
Ypres  in  '14.  What  name,  sir?" 

"Starkley,"   replied  Henry. 

"Of  Canada,  sir?  Of  Beaver  Dam? 
Here  is  the  captain,  sir." 

Another  voice  sounded  in  Henry's  ear, 
asking  whether  it  was  Henry  Starkley  of  the 
sappers  on  the  other  end  of  the  line. 
Henry  replied  in  the  affirmative. 

"It  is  Jack  Davenport  speaking — Stark- 
ley-Davenport,"  continued  the  voice. 
"Glad  you  have  my  letters  at  last.  Are 


VETERANS  OF  OTHER  DAYS 

you  at  the  same  hotel?  Can  you  wait  there 
half  an  hour  for  me?" 

"I'll  wait,"  said  Henry. 

He  and  Dick  awaited  the  arrival  of  the 
grandson  of  Richard  Starkley  with  lively 
curiosity.  That  he  was  a  captain,  and  that 
some  one  connected  with  him,  perhaps  a 
brother,  had  been  killed  at  Ypres  in  1914, 
added  considerable  interest  to  him  in  their 
eyes. 

"Size  him  up  before  trying  any  of  your 
old-soldier  airs  on  him,  young  fellow," 
warned  Henry. 

They  sat  in  the  lounge  of  the  hotel  and 
kept  a  sharp  watch  on  everyone  who  entered 
by  the  revolving  doors.  It  was  a  quiet 
place,  as  hotels  go  in  London,  but  during  the 
half  hour  of  their  watching  more  people 
than  the  entire  population  of  Beaver  Dam 
were  presented  to  their  scrutiny.  At  last 

6T 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

a  pale  young  fellow  in  a  Panama  hat  and 
a  gray-flannel  suit  entered.  Under  his  left 
shoulder  was  a  crutch  and  in  his  right  hand 
a  big,  rubber-shod  stick.  His  left  knee 
was  bent,  and  his  left  foot  swung  clear  of 
the  ground.  His  hands  were  gloved  in 
gray,  and  he  wore  a  smoke-blue  flower  in 
his  buttonhole.  Only  .his  necktie  was  out 
of  tone  with  the  rest  of  his  equipment:  it 
was  in  stripes  of  blue  and  red  and  yellow. 
Behind  him,  close  to  his  elbow,  came  a  thin, 
elderly  man  who  was  dressed  in  black. 

"Lieut.  Starkley?"  he  inquired  of  the 
hall  porter. 

At  that  Henry  and  Dick  both  sprang  to 
their  feet  and  went  across  to  the  man  in 
gray.  Before  they  could  introduce  them- 
selves the  young  stranger  edged  himself 
against  his  elderly  companion,  thus  mak- 
ing a  prop  of  him,  hooked  the  crook  of  his 
68 


VETERANS  OF  OTHER  DAYS 

stick  into  a  side  pocket  of  his  coat,  and  ex- 
tended his  right  hand  to  Henry.  He  did 
it  all  so  swiftly  and  smoothly  that  it  almost 
escaped  notice;  and,  pitiful  as  it  was,  it 
almost  escaped  pity. 

"Will  you  lunch  with  me — if  you  have 
nothing  better  to  do?"  he  asked.  "You're 
on  leave,  I  know,  and  it  sounds  cheek  to 
ask — but  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  some- 
thing rather  important." 

"Of  course — and  here  is  my  young 
brother,"  said  Henry. 

The  captain  shook  hands  with  Dick  and 
then  stared  at  him. 

"You  are  only  a  boy,"  he  said;  and  then, 
seeing  the  blood  mount  to  Dick's  tanned 
cheeks,  he  continued,  "and  all  the  better 
for  that,  perhaps.  The  nippiest  man  in 
my  platoon  was  only  nineteen." 

"Of  course  you  remember,  sir,  Mr.  David 
69 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

had  not  attained  his  twentieth  birthday," 
the  elderly  man  in  black  reminded  him. 

"You  are  right,  Wilson,"  said  the  cap- 
tain. "Hit  in  October,  '14.  He  was  my 
young  brother.  There  were  just  the  two  of 
us.  Shall  we  toddle  along?  I  kept  my 
taxi." 

Capt.  J.  A.  Starkley-Davenport  occupied 
three  rooms  and  a  bath  in  his  own  house, 
which  was  a  big  one  in  a  desirable  part  of 
town.  The  remaining  rooms  were  occu- 
pied by  his  servants.  And  such  servants! 

The  cook  was  so  poor  a  performer  that 
whenever  the  captain  had  guests  for  lunch- 
eon or  dinner  she  sent  out  to  a  big  hotel 
near  by  for  the  more  important  dishes — 
but  her  husband  had  been  killed  in  Flanders, 
and  her  three  sons  were  still  in  the  field. 
Wilson,  who  had  been  Jack's  father's  color 
sergeant  in  South  Africa,  was  the  valet. 
70 


VETERANS  OF  OTHER  DAYS 

The  butler  was  a  one-armed  man  of  forty- 
five  years  who  had  served  as  a  company 
sergeant  major  in  the  early  days  of  the  war; 
in  rallying  half  a  dozen  survivors  of  his 
company  he  had  got  his  arm  in  the  way  of 
a  chunk  of  high-explosive  shell  and  had 
decorated  his  chest  with  the  Distinguished 
Conduct  Medal.  He  had  only  the  vaguest 
notions  what  his  duties  as  butler  required 
of  him  but  occupied  his  time  in  arguing  the 
delicate  question  of  .seniority  with  Wilson 
and  the  coachman  and  making  frequent 
reports  to  the  captain. 

The  coachman,  who  had  served  forty 
years  in  the  navy,  most  of  the  time  as  chief 
petty  officer,  claimed  seniority  of  the  butler 
and  Wilson  on  the  grounds  of  belonging 
to  the  senior  service.  But  the  ex-sergeants 
argued  that  the  captain's  house  was  as  much 
a  bit  of  the  army  as  brigade  headquarters 
71 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

in  France,  and  that  the  polite  thing  for  any 
sailorman  to  do  who  found  a  home  there 
was  to  forget  all  about  seniority;  and  that 
for  their  part  they  did  not  believe  the  Brit- 
ish navy  was  older  than  the  British  army. 
Captain  Starkley-Davenport  introduced 
into  this  household  his  cousins  from  Beaver 
Dam,  without  apologies  and  with  only  a 
few  words  of  explanation.  In  spite  of  the 
butler's  protests,  the  valet  and  the  coach- 
man intruded  themselves  on  the  luncheon 
party,  pretending  to  wait  on  table,  but  in 
reality  satisfying  their  curiosity  concern- 
ing the  military  gentlemen  from  Canada 
whose  name  was  the  front  half  of  the  cap- 
tain's name.  They  paused  frequently  in 
their  light  duties  round  the  table  and 
frankly  gave  ear  to  the  conversation.  Their 
glances  went  from  face  to  face  with  childish 
eagerness,  intent  on  each  speaker  in  turn. 


VETERANS  OF  OTHER  DAYS 

The  captain  did  not  mind,  for  he  was  ac- 
customed to  their  ways  and  their  devour- 
ing interest  in  him;  Henry  was  puzzled  at 
first  and  then  amused ;  and  Dick  was  highly 
flattered. 

''There  isn't  anyone  of  our  blood  in  our 
regiment  now,  and  that  is  what  I  particu- 
larly want  to  talk  to  you  chaps  about," 
said  the  captain,  after  a  little  talk  on  gen- 
eral subjects.  "My  father  and  young 
brother  are  gone,  and  the  chances  are  that 
I  won't  get  back.  But  the  interests  of  the 
regiment  are  still  mine — and  I  want  the 
family  to  continue  to  have  a  stake  in  it. 
No  use  asking  you  to  transfer,  Henry,  I 
can  see  that;  you  are  a  sapper  and  already 
proved  in  the  field,  and  I  know  how  sap- 
pers feel  about  their  job;  but  Dick's  an 
infantryman.  What  d'you  say  to  transfer 
and  promotion,  Dick?  You  can  get  your 
73 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

commission  in  one  of  our  new  battalions  as 
easy  as  kiss.  It  will  help  you  and  the  old 
regiment." 

"But  perhaps  I  shouldn't  make  a  good 
officer,"  replied  Dick.  "I've  never  been 
in  action,  you  know." 

"Don't  worry  about  that.  I'll  answer  for 
your  quality.  You  wouldn't  have  enlisted 
if  the  right  stuff  wasn't  in  you." 

"But  I'd  like  to  prove  it,  first — although 
I'd  like  to  be  an  officer  mighty  well.  That's 
what  I  intend  to  be  some  day.  I  think  I'll 
stick  to  the  26th  a  while.  That  would  be 
fairer — and  I'd  feel  better  satisfied,  if  ever 
I  won  a  commission,  to  have  it  in  my  own 
outfit.  Frank  Sacobie  would  feel  sore  if  I 
left  him,  before  we'd  ever  been  in  France 
together,  to  be  an  officer  in  another  outfit. 
But  there  is  Peter.  He  is  a  corporal  al- 
ready and  a  mighty  good  soldier." 
74 


VETERANS  OF  OTHER  DAYS 

He  told  all  about  Peter  and  the  queer 
way  he  was  wounded  back  in  Canada  and 
then  all  about  his  friend,  Frank  Sacobie. 
The  captain  and  the  three  attendants 
listened  with  interest.  The  captain  asked 
many  questions;  and  the  butler,  the  valet 
and  the  coachman  were  on  the  point  of  do- 
ing the  same  many  times. 

After  luncheon  Wilson,  the  elderly  valet, 
took  command  gently  but  firmly  and  led 
the  captain  off  to  bed.  The  brothers  left 
the  addresses  of  themselves  and  Peter  with 
the  captain  and  promised  to  call  at  every 
opportunity  and  to  bring  Sacobie  to  see  him 
at  the  first  chance. 

Dick  and  Frank  Sacobie  continued  their 
training,  and  in  July  Dick  got  his  first 
stripe.  A  few  members  of  the  battalion 
went  to  the  hospital,  and  a  few  were  re- 
turned to  Canada  for  one  reason  or  another. 

75 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

In  August  a  little  draft  of  men  fresh  from 
Canada  came  to  the  battalion. 

One  of  the  new  men  kept  inquiring  so 
persistently  for  Corp.  Peter  Starkley  that 
in  the  course  of  time  he  was  passed  along 
to  Dick,  who  told  him  about  Peter. 

"I'm  downright  sorry  to  hear  that,"  said 
the  new  arrival.  "I  saw  him  in  Mr.  Ham- 
mond's store  one  day  and  took  a  shine  to 
him,  but  as  you're  his  own  brother  I  guess 
I'm  in  the  right  outfit.  Hiram  Sill  is  my 
name." 

They  shook  hands  cordially. 

"I'm  an  American  citizen  and  not  so 
young  as  I  used  to  be,"  continued  Sill,  "but 
the  minute  this  war  started  I  knew  I'd  be 
into  it  before  long.  Soldiering  is  a  busi- 
ness now,  and  I  am  a  business  man.  So 
it  looked  to  me  as  if  I  were  needed — as  if 
the  energy  I  was  expending  in  selling  boots 
76 


VETERANS  OF  OTHER  DAYS 

and  shoes  for  Maddock  &  Co.  would  count 
some  if  turned  against  the  Kaiser.  So  I 
swore  an  oath  to  fight  King  George's  ene- 
mies, and  I  guess  I've  made  no  mistake  in 
that.  King  George  and  Hiram  Sill  see 
eye  to  eye  and  tooth  to  tooth  in  this  war 
like  two  coons  at  a  watermelon." 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  Mr.  Scammell's 
platoon  was  already  up  to  strength,  Sill 
worked  his  way  into  it. 

He  had  a  very  good  reason  for  wanting 
to  be  in  that  particular  platoon,  and  there 
were  men  already  in  it  who  had  no  particu- 
lar reason  for  remaining  in  it  instead  of 
going  to  some  other  platoon;  so — as  Sill 
very  justly  remarked  to  Dick,  to  Sacobie,  to 
Sergt.  Hammer,  to  Lieut.  Scammell  and  to 
Capt.  Long — he  did  not  see  why  he  could 
not  be  where  he  wanted  to  be.  Friendship 
for  Frank  Sacobie  and  Dick  Starkley  and 

77 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

admiration  for  Sergt.  Hammer  and  Lieut. 
Scammell  were  the  reasons  he  gave  for 
wanting  to  be  in  that  platoon. 

"He  seems  a  friendly  chap,"  said  the 
adjutant  to  Mr.  Scammell.  "Will  you 
take  him?  If  so,  you  can  let  the  Smith 
with  the  red  head  go  over  to  Number 
Three,  where  he  will  be  with  a  whole  grist 
of  lads  from  his  own  part  of  the  country. 
What  d'ye  say?  He  looks  smart  and  will- 
ing to  me." 

"Sure  I'll  take  him,"  said  Mr.  Scammell. 
"He  says  he  admires  me." 

So  Hiram  Sill  became  a  member  of 
Number  Two  Platoon.  He  worked  with 
the  energy  of  a  tiger  and  with  the  good 
nature  of  a  lamb.  He  talked  a  great  deal, 
but  always  with  a  view  to  acquiring  or  im- 
parting knowledge.  When  he  found  that 
his  military  duties  and  the  cultivation  of 
78 


VETERANS  OF  OTHER  DAYS 

friendships  did  not  use  up  all  his  time  and 
energy,  he  set  himself  to  the  task  of  ascer- 
taining how  many  Americans  were  enrolled 
in  the  First  and  Second  Canadian  divisions. 
Then  indeed  he  became  a  busy  man;  and 
still  his  cry  continued  to  be  that  soldiering 
was  a  business. 


79 


CHAPTER  IV 

PRIVATE  SILL  ACTS 

ON  the  night  of  September  15,  1915, 
the  brigade  of  which  the  26th  Bat- 
talion  was    a   unit   crossed    from 
Folkstone   to   Boulogne  without  accident. 
All  the  ranks  were  in  the  highest  spirits, 
fondly  imagining  that  the  dull  routine  of 
training  was  dead  forever  and  that  the  prac- 
tice of  actual  warfare  was  as  entertaining 
as  dangerous. 

The  brigade  moved  up  by  way  of  the 
fine  old  city  of  Saint  Omer  and  the  big 
Flemish  town  of  Hazebrouck.  By  the 
fourth  day  after  landing  in  France  the 
whole  brigade  was  established  in  the  for- 
ward area  of  operations,  along  with  the 
other  brigades  of  the  new  division.  On 
the  night  of  the  I9th  the  battalion  marched 
80 


PRIVATE  SILL  ACTS 


up  and  went  into  hutments  and  billets  close 
behind  the  Kemmel  front.  That  night, 
from  the  hill  above  their  huts,  the  men  from 
New  Brunswick  beheld  for  the  first  time 
that  fixed,  fire-pulsing  line  beyond  which 
lay  the  menace  of  Germany. 

The  battalion  went  in  under  cover  of 
darkness,  and  by  midnight  had  taken  over 
from  the  former  defenders  the  headquarters 
of  companies,  the  dugouts  in  the  support 
trenches  and  the  sentry  posts  in  the  fire 
trench.  There  were  Dick  Starkley  and  his 
comrades  holding  back  the  Huns  from  the 
throat  of  civilization.  It  was  an  amazing 
and  inspiring  position  to  be  in  for  the  first 
time.  In  front  of  them,  just  beneath  and 
behind  the  soaring  and  falling  star  shells 
and  Very  lights,  crouched  the  most  ruthless 
and  powerful  armies  of  the  world. 

To  the  right  and  left,  every  now  and 
81 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

then,  machine  guns  broke  forth  in  swift, 
rapping  fire.  When  the  fire  was  from  the 
positions  opposite,  the  bullets  snapped  in  the 
air  like  the  crackings  of  a  whip.  The 
white  stars  went  up  and  down-  Great  guns 
thumped  occasionally;  now  and  then  a  high 
shell  whined  overhead;  now  and  then  the 
burst  of  an  exploding  shell  sounded  before 
or  behind.  It  was  a  quiet  night;  but  to  the 
new  battalion  it  was  full  of  thrills.  The 
sentries  never  took  their  eyes  from  the  mys- 
terious region  beyond  their  wire.  Every 
blob  of  blackness  beyond  their  defenses  set 
their  pulses  racing  and  sent  their  hands  to 
their  weapons. 

Dick  Starkley  and  Frank  Sacobie  stood 
shoulder  to  shoulder  on  the  fire  step  for 
hours,  staring  with  all  their  eyes  and  listen- 
ing with  all  their  ears.  Hiram  Sill  sat  at 
their  feet  and  talked  about  how  he  felt  on 
82 


PRIVATE  SILL  ACTS 


this  very  particular  occasion.  His  friends 
paid  no  attention  to  him. 

"This  is  the  proudest  moment  of  my  life," 
he  said.  "We  are  historic  figures,  boys — 
and  that's  a  thing  I  never  hoped  to  be.  In 
my  humble  way,  I  stand  for  more  than 
George  Washington  did.  This  is  a  bigger 
war  than  George  ever  dreamed  of,  and  I 
have  a  bigger  and  better  reason  for  fight- 
ing the  Huns  than  Gen.  Washington  ever 
had  for  fighting  the  fool  Britishers." 

"Did  you  see  that?"  asked  Dick  of  Sac- 
obie.  "Over  in  the  edge  of  their  wire. 
There!  Look  quick  now!  Is  it  a  man?" 

"Looks  like  a  man,  but  it's  been  there 
right  along  and  ain't  moved  yet,"  said 
Frank.  "Maybe  it's  a  stump." 

Just  then  Lieut.  Scammell  came  along. 
He  got  up  on  the  fire  step  and,  directed  by 
Dick,  trained  his  glass  on  the  black  thing 
83 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

in  the  edge  of  the  enemy's  wire.  A  German 
star  shell  gave  him  light. 

"That's  a  German — a  dead  one,"  he  said. 
"I've  been  told  about  him.  There  was  a 
bit  of  a  scrap  over  there  three  nights  ago, 
and  that  is  one  of  the  scrappers." 

Hiram  forgot  about  Gen.  Washington 
and  mounted  the  fire  step  to  have  a  look. 
He  borrowed  the  officer's  glass  for  the  pur- 
pose. 

"Do  his  friends  intend  to  leave  him  out 
there  much  longer,  sir?"  he  asked.  "If 
they  do,  it's  a  sure  sign  of  weakness. 
They're  scart." 

"They  are  scart,  right  enpugh — but  I 
bet  they  wouldn't  be  if  they  knew  this  bit 
of  trench  was  being  held  now  by  a  green 
battalion,"  replied  Mr.  Scammell.  "They'd 
be  over  for  identifications  if  they  knew." 

"Let  them  come!"  exclaimed  Private 
84 


PRIVATE  SILL  ACTS 


Sill.  "I  bet  a  dollar  they  wouldn't  stay  to 
breakfast — except  a  few  who  wouldn't  want 
any." 

At  that  moment  a  rifle  cracked  to  the 
right  of  them,  evidently  from  their  own 
trench  and  not  more  than  one  hundred  yards 
away.  It  was  followed  close  by  a  spatter 
of  shots,  then  the  smashing  bursts  of  gre- 
nades, more  musketry  and  the  rat-tat-tat  of 
several  machine  guns.  Bullets  snapped  in 
the  air.  Lights  trailed  up  from  both  lines. 
Dull  thumps  sounded  far  away,  and  then 
came  the  whining  songs  of  high-flying 
shells.  Flashes  of  fire  astonished  the  eye, 
and  crashing  reports  stunned  the  ear. 

"They're  at  us!"  exclaimed  the  lieutenant. 
"Open  fire  on  the  parapet  opposite,  unless 
you  see  a  better  target,  and  don't  leave 
your  posts.  Keep  low.  Better  use  the 
loopholes." 

85 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

He  left  the  fire  step  and  ran  along  the 
duck  boards  toward  the  heart  of  the  row. 

Dick  and  Frank  Sacobie  and  Hiram 
Sill,  firing  rapidly  through  the  loopholes, 
added  what  they  could  to  the  disturbance. 
Now  and  again  a  bullet  rang  against  the 
steel  plate  of  a  loophole.  One  or  another 
of  them  took  frequent  observations  through 
a  periscope,  for  at  that  time  the  Canadian 
troops  were  not  yet  supplied  with  shrapnel 
helmets.  Dave  Hammer,  breathless  with 
excitement,  joined  them  for  a  few  seconds. 

"They  tried  to  jump  us, — must  have 
learned  we're  a  green  relief, — but  we've 
chewed  them  up  for  fair!"  he  gasped. 
"Must  have  been  near  a  hundred  of  'em — 
but  not  one  got  through  our  wire.  Keep 
yer  heads  down  for  a  while,  boys;  they're 
traversing  our  top  with  emmagees." 

At  last  the  enemy's  artillery  fire  slack- 
86 


PRIVATE  SILL  ACTS 


ened  and  died.  Ours  drubbed  away  cheer- 
ily for  another  fifteen  minutes,  then  ceased 
as  quick  and  clean  as  the  snap  of  a  finger. 
The  rifle  fire  and  machine-gun  fire  dwin- 
dled and  ceased.  Even  the  up-spurting  of 
the  white  and  watchful  stars  diminished  by 
half;  but  now  and  again  one  of  them  from 
the  hostile  lines,  curving  far  forward  in  its 
downward  flight,  illuminated  a  dozen  or 
more  motionless  black  shapes  in  and  in  front 
of  our  rusty  wire.  Except  for  those  motion- 
less figures  No  Man's  Land  was  again  de- 
serted. The  big  rats  ran  there  undisturbed. 

Sacobie  looked  over  the  parapet;  Hiram 
Sill  and  Dick  sat  on  the  fire  step  at  the 
Malecite's  feet.  They  felt  as  tired  as  if 
they  had  been  wrestling  with  strong  men 
for  half  an  hour.  Dave  Hammer  came 
along  the  trench  and  halted  before  them. 

"Those  Huns  or  Fritzes  or  whatever  you 
87 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

call  them  are  crazy,"  he  said.  "Did  you 
ever  hear  of  such  a  fool  thing  as  that? 
They've  left  a  dozen  dead  out  in  front,  be- 
sides what  they  carried  home  along  with 
their  wounded — and  all  they  did  to  us  was 
wound  three  of  our  fellows  with  that  first 
bomb  they  threw,  and  two  more  with 
machine-gun  fire." 

"Their  officers  must  be  boneheads,  for 
sure,"  said  Hiram.  "War's  a  business,— 
and  a  mighty  swift  one, — and  you  can't  suc- 
ceed in  business  without  knowing  some- 
thing about  psychology.  Yes,  gentlemen, 
psychology,  queer  as  it  may  sound." 

"Sounds  mighty  queer  to  me!"  muttered 
Sacobie,  glancing  down. 

"You  must  study  men,"  continued  Priv- 
ate Sill,  not  at  all  abashed,  "their  souls  and 
hearts  and  minds — if  you  want  to  make  a 
success  at  anything  except  bee  farming. 
88 


PRIVATE  SILL  ACTS 


Now,  take  this  fool  raid  of  the  Huns.  They 
were  smart  enough  to  find  out  that  a  bunch 
of  greenhorns  took  over  this  trench  to-night. 
So  they  thought  they'd  surprise  us.  Now, 
if  they'd  known  anything  about  psychology, 
they'd  have  known  that  just  because  we 
were  new  and  green  we'd  all  be  on  our 
toes  to-night,  with  our  eyes  sticking  out  a 
yard  and  our  ears  buttoned  right  back. 
Sure!  Every  man  of  us  was  on  sentry  duty 
to-night!" 

"I  guess  you've  got  the  right  idea,  Old 
Psychology,"  said  the  sergeant. 

The  26th  spent  five  days  in  the  line  on 
that  tour.  With  the  exception  of  one  day 
and  night  of  rain  they  had  fine  weather. 
They  mended  their  wire  and  did  a  fair 
amount  of  business  in  No  Man's  Land. 
The  enemy  attempted  no  further  raids;  his 
last  effort  had  evidently  given  him  more  in- 

89 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

formation  concerning  the  quality  of  the 
new  battalion  than  he  could  digest  in 
a  week.  At  any  rate  he  kept  very 
quiet. 

At  the  end  of  the  tour  the  battalion  went 
back  a  little  way  to  huts  on  the  bushy  flanks 
of  Scherpenberg,  where  they  "rested"  by 
performing  squad,  platoon  and  company 
drill  and  innumerable  fatigues.  The  time 
remaining  at  their  disposal  was  devoted  to 
football  and  base-ball  and  investigations  of 
villages  and  farmsteads  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. 

Their  second  tour  in  was  more  lively  and 
less  comfortable  than  the  first.  Under  the 
drench  of  rain  and  the  gnawing  of  dank 
and  chilly  mists  their  trenches  and  all  the 
surrounding  landscape  were  changed  from 
dry  earth  to  mud.  Everything  in  the  front 
line,  including  their  persons,  became  caked 
90 


PRIVATE  SILL  ACTS 


with  mud.  The  duck  boards  became  a 
chain  of  slippery  traps;  and  in  low  trenches 
they  floated  like  rafts.  The  parapets  slid 
in  and  required  constant  attention ;  and  what 
the  water  left  undone  in  the  way  of  destruc- 
tion the  guns  across  the  way  tried  to  fin- 
ish. 

It  was  hard  on  the  spirit  of  new  troops; 
they  were  toughened  to  severe  work  and 
rough  living,  but  not  to  the  deadening  mud 
of  a  front-line  trench  in  low  ground.  So 
their  officers  planned  excitement  for  them, 
to  keep  the  fire  of  interest  alive  in  their 
hearts.  That  excitement  was  obtained  in 
several  ways,  but  always  by  a  move  of  some 
sort  against  the  enemy  or  his  defenses. 
Patrol  work  was  the  most  popular  form  of 
relief  from  muddy  inaction.  Lieut.  Scam- 
mell  quickly  developed  a  skill  in  that  and 
an  appetite  for  it  that  soon  drew  the  colo- 
91 


nel's  attention  to  himself  and  his  followers. 


By  the  end  of  September,  even  the  med- 
ical officers  of  New  Brunswick  had  to  ad- 
mit that  Corp.  Peter  Starkley  was  fully  re- 
covered from  his  wound.  As  for  Peter  him- 
self, he  affirmed  that  he  had  not  felt  any- 
thing of  it  for  the  past  two  months.  He  had 
worked  at  the  haying  and  the  harvesting  on 
Beaver  Dam  and  his  own  place  without 
so  much  as  a  twinge  of  pain. 

Peter  returned  to  his  military  duties 
eagerly,  but  inspired  only  by  his  sense  of 
duty.  His  heart  was  more  than  ever  in  his 
own  countryside;  but  despite  his  natural 
modesty  he  knew  that  he  was  useful  to  his 
king  and  country  as  a  noncommissioned 
officer,  and  with  that  knowledge  he  fortified 
his  heart.  He  tried  to  tell  Vivia  Hammond 
something  of  what  he  felt.  His  words 
92 


PRIVATE  SILL  ACTS 


were  stumbling  and  inadequate,  but  she 
understood  him.  And  at  the  last  he  said: 

"Vivia,  don't  forget  me,  for  I  shall  be 
thinking  of  you  always — more  than  of  any- 
one or  anything  in  the  world."  And  then, 
not  trusting  his  voice  for  more,  he  kissed 
her  hastily. 

Vivia  wept  and  made  no  attempt  to  hide 
her  tears  or  the  reason  for  them. 

Shortly  before  Peter's  return  to  the  army 
he  had  received  a  letter  from  Capt.  Stark- 
ley-Davenport,  telling  of  the  reunion  of 
the  cousins  in  London  and  virtually  offer- 
ing him  a  commission  in  the  writer's  old 
regiment.  Peter  had  also  heard  some- 
thing of  the  plan  from  Dick  a  few  days  be- 
fore. He  answered  the  captain's  letter 
promptly  and  frankly,  to  the  effect  that  he 
had  no  military  ambition  beyond  that  of 
doing  his  duty  to  the  full  extent  of  his 

93 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

power  against  Germany,  and  that  a  com- 
mission in  an  English  regiment  was  an 
honor  he  could  accept  only  if  it  should 
come  to  him  unavoidably,  in  the  day's 
work. 

Peter  reached  England  in  the  third  week 
of  October  and  with  three  hundred  com- 
panions fresh  from  Canada  was  attached  to 
a  reserve  battalion  on  St.  Martin's  Plain 
for  duty  and  instruction.  Peter  was  given 
the  acting  rank  of  sergeant.  Early  in 
December  he  crossed  to  France  and  reached 
his  battalion  without  accident.  He  found 
that  the  26th  had  experienced  its  full  share 
of  the  fortunes  and  misfortunes  of  war. 
Scores  of  familiar  faces  were  gone.  His 
old  platoon  had  suffered  many  changes 
since  he  had  left  it  in  St.  John  a  year  ago. 
Its  commander,  a  Lieut.  Smith,  was  an  en- 
tire stranger  to  him,  and  he  had  known  the 
94 


PRIVATE  SILL  ACTS 


platoon  sergeant  as  a  private.  Mr.  Scam- 
mell  was  now  scout  officer  and  expecting 
his  third  star  at  any  moment.  Dave  Ham- 
mer, still  a  sergeant,  and  Dick,  Sacobie  and 
Hiram  Sill  also  were  scouts.  Dick,  was  a 
corporal  now  and  had  never  been  touched 
by  shot,  shell  or  sickness.  Sacobie  had  been 
slightly  wounded  and  had  been  away  at  a 
field  ambulance  for  a  week. 

Peter  rejoined  his  old  platoon  and,  as  it 
was  largely  composed  at  this  time  of  new 
troops,  was  permitted  to  retain  his  acting 
rank  of  sergeant.  He  performed  his  du- 
ties so  satisfactorily  that  he  was  con- 
firmed in  his  rank  after  his  first  tour  in 
the  trenches. 

On  the  third  night  of  Peter's  second  tour 

in  the  front  line,  Dave  Hammer,  Dick  and 

Frank  Sacobie  took  him  out  to  show  him 

about.     All    carried    bombs,    and    Sergt. 

95 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

Hammer  had  a  pistol  as  well.  They  were 
hoping  to  surprise  a  party  of  Germans  at 
work  mending  their  wire. 

Hammer  slipped  over  the  parapet.  Peter 
followed  him.  Dick  and  Sacobie  went 
over  together,  quick  as  the  wink  of  an  eye. 
Their  faces  and  hands  were  black.  With 
Dave  Hammer  in  the  lead,  Peter  at  the 
very  soles  of  his  spiked  boots  and  Dick  and 
Sacobie  elbow  to  elbow  behind  Peter,  they 
crawled  out  through  their  own  wire  by  the 
way  of  an  intricate  channel.  When  a  star 
shell  went  up  in  front,  near  enough  to  light 
that  particular  area,  they  lay  motionless. 
They  went  forward  during  the  brief  periods 
of  darkness  and  half  light. 

At  last  they  got  near  enough  to  the  Ger- 
man wire  to  see  it  plainly,  and  the  leader 
changed  his  course  to  the  left.  When  they 
lay  perfectly  still  they  could  hear  many 
96 


PRIVATE  SILL  ACTS 


faint,  vague  sounds  in  every  direction :  far, 
dull  thuds  before  and  behind  them,  spatters 
of  rifle  fire  far  off  to  the  right  and  left,  the 
bang  of  a  Very  pistol  somewhere  behind 
a  parapet  and  now  and  then  the  crash  of 
a  bursting  shell. 

A  few  minutes  later  Dave  twisted  about 
and  laid  a  hand  on  Peter's  shoulder.  He 
gave  it  a  gentle  pull.  Peter  crawled  up 
abreast  of  him.  ,.  Dave  put  his  lips  to  Peter's 
ear  and  whispered: 

"There  they  are." 

A  twisty  movement  of  his  right  foot  had 
already  signaled  the  same  information  to 
the  veterans  in  the  rear.  Peter  stared  at 
the  blotches  of  darkness  that  Dave  had  in- 
dicated. They  did  not  move  often  or 
quickly  and  kept  close  to  the  ground. 
Sometimes,  when  a  light  was  up,  they  be- 
came motionless  and  instantly  melted  from 
97 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

view,  merging  into  the  shadows  of  the  night 
and  the  tangled  wire.  Now  and  then  Peter 
heard  some  faint  sound  of  their  labor,  as 
they  worked  at  the  wire. 

"Only  five  of  them,"  whispered  the  scout 
sergeant.  "They  are  scared  blue.  Bet 
their  skunks  of  officers  had  to  kick  them 
out  of  the  trench.  Let's  sheer  off  a  few 
yards  and  give  'em  something  to  be  scared 
about." 

Just  then  Dick  and  Frank  squirmed  up 
beside  them. 

"Some  more  straight  ahead  of  us," 
breathed  the  Indian.  "Three  or  four." 

Hammer  used  his  glass  and  saw  that  Sa- 
cobie's  eyes  had  not  fooled  him.  He 
touched  each  of  his  companions  to  assure 
himself  of  their  attention,  then  twisted  sharp 
to  the  left,  back  toward  their  own  line,  and 
crawled  away.  They  followed.  After  he 
98 


PRIVATE  SILL  ACTS 


had  covered  about  ten  yards,  Dave  turned 
end  for  end  in  his  muddy  trail,  and  the 
others  came  up  to  him  and  turned  beside 
him.  They  saw  that  the  wiring  party  and 
the  patrol  had  joined. 

"Spread  a  bit,"  whispered  Dave.  "I'll 
chuck  one  at  'em,  and  when  it  busts  you 
fellows  let  fly  and  then  beat  it  back  for  the 
hole  in  our  wire.  Take  cover  if  the  em- 
magees  get  busy.  I'll  be  right  behind 
you." 

They  moved  a  few  paces  to  the  right  and 
left.  Peter's  lips  felt  dry,  and  he  wanted 
to  sneeze.  He  took  a  plump,  cold,  heavy 
little  grenade  in  his  muddy  right  hand.  A 
few  breathless,  slow  seconds  passed  and 
then  smash!  went  Dave's  bomb  over  against 
the  Hun  wire.  Then  Peter  stood  up  and 
threw — and  three  bombs  exploded  like  one. 

Turning,  Peter  slithered  along  on  all 
99 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

fours  after  Dick  and  Sacobie.  The  startled 
Huns  lighted  up  their  front  as  if  for  a 
national  fete;  but  Peter  chanced  it  and  kept 
on  going.  A  shrapnel  shell  exploded  over- 
head with  a  terrific  sound,  and  the  fat  bul- 
lets spattered  in  the  mud  all  round  him. 
He  came  to  another  and  larger  crater  and 
was  about  to  skirt  it  when  a  familiar  voice 
exclaimed : 

"Come  in  here,  you  idiot!" 

There  was  Dick  and  Frank  Sacobie 
standing  hip-deep  in  the  mud  and  water  at 
the  bottom  of  the  hole.  Peter  joined  them 
with  a  few  bushels  of  mud.  A  whiz-bang 
whizzed  and  banged  red  near-by,  and 
the  three  ducked  and  knocked  their 
heads  together.  The  water  was  bitterly 
cold. 

"Did  you  think  you  were  on  your  way 
to  the  barns  to  milk?"  asked  Dick.  "Don't 
100 


PRIVATE  SILL  ACTS 


you  know  the  machine  guns  are  combing 
the  ground?" 

"I'll  remember,"  said  Peter.  "New 
work  to  me,  and  I  guess  I  was  a  bit  flus- 
tered. I  wonder  where  Dave  Hammer  has 
got  himself  to." 

"Some  hole  or  other,  sure,"  said  Sacobie. 
"Don't  worry  'bout  Dave.  He  put  three 
bombs  into  them.  I  counted  the  busts. 
Fritz  will  quiet  down  in  a  few  minutes,  I 
guess,  and  let  us  out  of  here — if  our  fellows 
don't  get  gay  and  start  all  the  artillery 
shootin'  off." 

Our  fellows  did  not  get  gay,  our  artillery 
refrained  from  shooting  off,  and  soon  the 
enemy  ceased  his  frenzied  musketry  and 
machine  gunning  and  bombing  of  his  own 
wire  and  the  harmless  mud  beyond.  So 
Peter  and  Dick  and  Sacobie  left  their  wet 
retreat  and  crawled  for  home.  They  found 
101 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

Sergt.  Hammer  waiting  for  them  at  the  hole 
in  the  wire.  He  had  already  given  the 
word  to  the  sentry;  and  so  they  made  the 
passage  of  the  wire  and  popped  into  the 
trench.  Hammer  reported  to  Mr.  Scam- 
mell,  who  was  all  ready  to  go  out  with  an- 
other patrol;  and  then  the  four  went  back 
to  their  dugout  in  the  support  trench,  de- 
voured a  mess  of  potatoes  and  onions,  drank 
a  few  mugs  of  tea  and  retired  to  their  blan- 
kets, mud  and  putties  and  all. 

That  was  the  night  of  the  3d  of  Decem- 
ber. In  the  battalion's  summary  of 
intelligence  to  the  brigade  it  read  like 
this: 

"Night  of  23d-24th,  our  patrols  active. 
Small  patrol  of  four,  under  106254  Sgt.  D. 
Hammer,  encountered  ten  of  the  enemy  in 
front  of  the  German  wire.  Bombs  were 
exchanged  and  six  of  the  enemy  were  killed 
102 


PRIVATE  SILL  ACTS 


or  wounded.  Our  patrol  returned.  2.30 
A.  M.  Lieut.  Scammell  placed  tube  in  hostile 
wire  which  exploded  successfully.  No 
casualties." 

The  next  day  passed  quietly,  with  a  pale 
glimmer  of  sunshine  now  and  then,  and  be- 
tween glimmers  a  flurry  of  moist  snow. 
The  Germans  shouted  friendly  messages 
across  No  Man's  Land  and  suggested  a  com- 
plete cessation  of  hostilities  for  the  day  and 
the  morrow.  The  Canadians  replied  that 
the  next  Fritz  who  cut  any  "love-your-en- 
emy"  capers  on  the  parapet  would  get  what 
'he  deserved. 

"Peace  on  earth!"  exclaimed  the  colonel 
of  the  a6th.  "They  are  the  people  to  ask 
for  it,  the  murderers!  No,  this  is  a  war 
with  a  reason — and  we  shoot  on  Christ- 
mas Eve  just  as  quick  as  on  any  other 
day." 

103 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

The  day  passed  quietly.  Soon  after  sun- 
set Mr.  Scammell  sent  two  of  his  scouts 
out  to  watch  the  gap  in  the  German  wire 
that  he  had  blown  with  his  explosive  tube. 
They  returned  at  ten  o'clock  and  reported 
that  the  enemy  had  made  no  attempt  to 
mend  the  gap.  The  night  was  misty  and 
the  enemy's  illumination  a  little  above  nor- 
mal. 

At  eleven  o'clock  Lieut.  Scammell  went 
out  himself,  accompanied  by  Lieut.  Harvey 
and  nine  men.  They  reached  the  gap  in 
the  enemy  wire  without  being  discovered, 
and  there  they  separated.  Mr.  Harvey  and 
two  others  moved  along  the  front  of  the 
wire  to  the  left,  and  a  sergeant  and  one  man 
went  to  the  right.  Mr.  Scammell  and  his 
five  men  passed  through  the  wire  and  ex- 
tended a  few  yards  to  the  left,  close  under 
the  hostile  parapet. 

104 


PRIVATE  SILL  ACTS 


The  officer  stood  up,  close  against  the 
wet  sandbags.  Dave  Hammer,  Dick,  Pe- 
ter, Hiram  Sill  and  Sacobie  followed  his 
example. 

Then,  all  together,  they  tossed  six  bombs 
into  the  trench.  The  shattering  bangs  of 
six  more  blended  with  the  bangs  of  the 
first  volley.  From  right  and  left  along  the 
trench  sounded  other  explosions. 

Obeying  their  officer's  instructions, 
Scammell's  men  made  the  return  journey 
through  the  wire  and  struck  out  for  home 
at  top  speed,  trusting  to  the  mist  to  hide 
their  movements  from  the  foe. 

Scammell  rid  himself  of  three  more 
bombs  and  then  followed  his  party.  The 
white  mist  swallowed  them.  The  bombers 
ran,  stumbled  and  ran  again,  eager  to  reach 
the  shelter  of  their  own  parapet  before  the 
shaken  enemy  should  recover  and  begin 
105 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

sweeping    the    ground    with    his    machine 
guns. 

Sacobie  and  Dick  were  the  first  to  get  in- 
to the  trench.  Then  came  Sergt.  Hammer 
and  Lieut.  Scammell,  followed  close  by 
Lieut.  Harvey  and  his  party.  By  that 
time  the  German  machine  guns  were  going 
full  blast. 

"Are  Sergt.  Starkley  and  Private  Sill 
here?" 

"Don't  see  either  of  'em,  sir,"  Sergt. 
Hammer  said  in  reply  to  Mr.  Scammell's 
question. 

"Perhaps  they  got  here  before  any  of  us 
and  beat  it  for  their  dugout,"  said  Mr. 
Scammell.  "Dick,  you  go  along  the  trench 
and  have  a  look  for  them.  If  they  aren't 
in,  come  back  and  report  to  me.  Wait 
right  here  for  me,  mind  you — on  this  side 
of  the  parapet.  Get  that?" 
106 


PRIVATE  SILL  ACTS 


Then  the  officer  spoke  a  few  hurried 
words  to  Sergt.  Hammer,  a  few  to  the  sen- 
try, and  went  over  the  sandbags  like  a  snake. 
Hammer  went  out  of  the  trench  at  the  same 
moment;  and  Frank  Sacobie  took  one 
glance  at  the  sentry  and  followed  Hammer 
like  a  shadow.  The  mist  lay  close  and 
cold  and  almost  as  wet  as  rain  over  that 
puddled  waste. 

Mr.  Scammell  found  Peter  and  Hiram 
about  ten  yards  in  front  of  the  gap  in  our 
wire;  the  private  was  unhurt  and  the  ser- 
geant unconscious.  Sill  had  his  tall  friend 
on  his  back  and  was  crawling  laboriously 
homeward. 

"Whiz-bang,"  he  informed  Mr.  Scam- 
mell. "It  got  Pete  bad,  in  the  leg.  I  heard 
him  grunt  and  soon  found  him." 

They  regained  the  trench,  picking  up 
Hammer  on  the  way,  and  sent  Peter  out  on 
107 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

a  stretcher.  Sacobie  came  in  at  their  heels ; 
and  no  one  knew  that  he  had  gone  out  to 
the  rescue. 

That  happened  on  Christmas  morning. 
Before  night  the  doctors  cut  off  what  little 
had  been  left  below  the  knee  of  Peter's  right 
leg. 


108 


CHAPTER  V 

PETER'S  ROOM  is  AGAIN  OCCUPIED 

LIFE  was  very  dull  round  Beaver 
Dam  after  Peter  had  gone  away. 
John  and  Constance  Starkley  and 
Flora  and  Emma  felt  that  every  room  of 
the  old  house  was  so  full  of  memories  of 
the  three  boys  that  they  could  not  think  of 
anything  else.  John  Starkley  worked  early 
and  late,  but  a  sense  of  numbness  was  al- 
ways at  his  heart.  There  were  times  when 
he  glowed  with  pride  and  even  when  he 
flamed  with  anger,  but  he  was  always  con- 
scious of  the  weight  on  his  heart.  His 
grief  was  partly  for  his  wife's  grief. 

He  awoke  suddenly  very  early  one  morn- 
ing and   heard  his  wife  sobbing  quietly. 
109 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

That  had  happened  several  times  before, 
and  sometimes  she  had  been  asleep  and  at 
other  times  awake.  Now  she  was  asleep, 
lonely  for  her  boys  even  in  her  dreams. 
He  thought  of  waking  her ;  and  then  he  re- 
flected that,  if  awake,  she  would  hide  her 
tears,  which  now  perhaps  were  giving  her 
some  comfort  in  her  dreams. 

But  he  could  not  find  his  own  sleep  again. 
He  lighted  a  candle,  put  on  a  few  clothes 
and  went  downstairs  to  the  sitting  room. 
There  were  books  everywhere,  of  all  sorts, 
in  that  comfortable  and  shabby  room.  The 
brown  wooden  clock  on  the  shelf  above  the 
old  Franklin  stove  ticked  drearily.  It 
marked  ten  minutes  past  two.  Mr.  Stark- 
ley  dipped  into  a  volume  of  Charles  Lever 
and  wondered  why  he  had  ever  laughed  at 
its  impossible  anecdotes  and  pasteboard  love 
scenes.  He  tried  a  report  of  the  New 
110 


PETER'S  ROOM 


Brunswick  Agricultural  Society  and  found 
that  equally  dry.  A  flyleaf  of  Treasure  Is- 
land held  his  attention,  for  on  it  was  penned 
in  a  round  hand,  "Flora  with  Dick's  love, 
Christmas,  1914." 

"He  was  only  a  boy  then,"  murmured 
the  father.  "Less  than  a  year  ago  he  was 
only  a  boy,  and  now  he  is  a  man,  knowing 
hate  and  horror  and  fatigue — a  man  fight- 
ing for  his  life.  They  are  all  boys !  Henry 
and  Peter — Peter  with  his  grand  farm  and 
fast  mares,  and  his  eyes  like  Connie's." 

John  Starkley  got  out  of  his  chair,  trem- 
bling as  if  with  cold.  He  walked  round 
the  room,  clasping  his  hands  before  him. 
Then  he  took  the  candle  from  the  table  and 
held  it  up  to  the  shelf  above  the  stove. 
There  stood  photographs  of  his  boys,  in 
uniform.  He  held  the  little  flame  close  to 
each  photograph  in  turn. 
Ill 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

"Three  sons,"  he  said.  "Three  good  sons 
— and  not  one  here  now!" 

A  cautious  rat-tat  on  the  glass  of  one  of 
the  windows  brought  him  out  of  his  rever- 
ies with  a  start.  He  went  to  the  window 
without  a  moment's  hesitation,  held  the 
candle  high  and  saw  a  face  looking  in  at 
him  that  he  did  not  recognize  for  a  mo- 
ment. It  was  a  frightened  and  shamed 
face.  The  eyes  met  his  for  a  fraction 
of  a  second  and  then  shifted  their 
glance. 

"James  Hammond!"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Starkley.  "Of  all  people!" 

He  set  the  candle  on  the  table  and  pushed 
up  the  lower  sash  of  the  window,  letting  in 
a  gust  of  cold  wind  that  extinguished  the 
light  behind  him.  He  could  see  the  bulk 
of  his  untimely  visitor  against  the  vague 
starlight. 

112 


PETER'S  ROOM 


"Come  in,  James,"  he  said.  "By  the 
window  or  the  door,  as  you  like." 

"Thank  you,  Mr-  Starkley,"  said  Ham- 
mond in  guarded  tones.  "The  window 
will  do.  No  strangers  about,  I  suppose? 
Just  the  family?" 

"Only  my  wife  and  daughters,"  replied 
the  farmer,  and  turned  to  relight  the  can- 
dle. 

Jim  Hammond  got  quickly  across  the 
sill,  pulled  the  sash  down,  and  after  it  the 
green-linen  shade.  He  stood  near  the  wall, 
twirling  his  hat  in  his  hand  and  shuffling 
his  feet.  When  Mr.  Starkley  turned  to 
him,  he  swallowed  hard,  glanced  up  and 
then  as  swiftly  down  again. 

"Queer  time  to  make  a  call,"  said  Ham- 
mond at  last.  "Near  three  o'clock,  Mr. 
Starkley.  I  was  glad  to  see  your  light  at 
the  window.  I  was  scared  to  tap  on  the 
113 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

window,  at  first,  for  fear  you'd  send  me 
away." 

"Send  you  away?"  queried  the  farmer. 
"Why  did  you  fear  that,  Jim?  You,  or  any 
other  friend,  are  welcome  at  this  house  at 
any  hour  of  the  day  or  night.  But  I  must 
admit  that  your  visit  has  taken  me  by  sur- 
prise. I  thought  you  were  far  away  from 
this  peaceful  and  lonely  country,  my  boy — 
far  away  in  Flanders." 

The  blood  flushed  over  Jim's  face,  and 
he  stared  at  the  farmer. 

"You  thought  I  was  in  Flanders,"  he  said. 
"In  Flanders — me!  So  you  don't  know 
about  me,  Mr.  Starkley?  Peter  didn't 
tell  you  about  me?  That — that's  impos- 
sible. Don't  you  know — and  every  one 
else?" 

"I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking 
about,"  replied  Mr.  Starkley,  as  he  pushe(l 
114 


PETER'S  ROOM 


Jim  into  an  armchair.  "I  can  see  that  you 
are  tired,  however,  and  in  distress  of  some 
sort.  Why  are  you  here,  Jim — and  why 
are  you  not  in  uniform?  Tell  me — and  if 
I  can  help  you  in  any  way  you  may  be  sure 
that  I  will.  Rest  here  and  I'll  get  you 
something  to  eat.  I  did  not  notice  at  first 
how  bad  you  look,  Jim." 

"Never  mind  the  food !"  muttered  young 
Hammond.  "I'm  not  hungry,  sir — not  to 
matter,  that  is.  But  I'm  dog-tired.  I've 
been  hiding  about  in  the  woods  and  in  peo- 
ple's barns  for  a  long  time — and  walking 
miles  and  miles.  I — you  say  you  don't 
know — I  am  a  deserter — and  worse." 

"You  didn't  go  to  Prance  with  your  regi- 
ment? You  deserted?" 

"I  didn't  go  anywhere  with  it.  Why 
didn't  Peter  tell  you?  I  came  home  on 
pass — and  gave  them  the  slip.  I — Peter 
115 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

was  sent  here  to  fetch  me  back.  And  he 
didn't  tell  you!  And  you  thought  I  was  in 
France!1  I  came  here  because  I  was 
ashamed  to  go  home." 

He  suddenly  leaned  forward  in  his  chair, 
with  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  and  covered 
his  face  with  his  'hands.  His  shoulders 
shook.  John  Starkley  continued  to  gaze  at 
him  in  silence  for  a  minute  or  two,  far  too 
amazed  and  upset  and  bewildered  to  know 
what  to  say  or  do.  He  felt  a  great  pity  for 
the  young  man,  whom  he  had  always  known 
as  a  prosperous  and  self-confident  person. 
To  see  him  thus — shabby,  weary,  ashamed 
and  reduced  to  tears — was  a  most  pitiful 
thing.  A  deserter!  A  coward!  But  even 
so,  who  was  he  to  judge?  Might  not  his 
sons  have  been  like  this,  except  for  the 
mercy  of  God?  Even  now  any  one  of  his 
boys,  or  all  three  of  them,  might  be  in  great 
116 


PETER'S  ROOM 


need  of  help  and  kindness.  He  went  over 
and  laid  a  hand  gently  on  his  visitor's 
shoulder. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  have  done, 
exactly,  or  anything  at  all  of  your  reason 
for  doing  it,  but  you  are  the  son  of  a  friend 
of  mine  and  have  been  a  comrade  of  one  of 
my  cons,"  he  said.  "Look  upon  me  as  a 
friend,  Jim.  You  say  you  are  a  deserter. 
Well,  I  heard  you.  It  is  bad — but  here  is 
my  hand." 

Jim  Hammond  raised  his  head  and  looked 
at  Mr.  Starkley  with  a  tear-stained  face. 

"Do  you  mean  that?"  he  asked;  and  at 
the  other's  nod  he  grasped  the  extended 
hand. 

Mr.  Starkley  asked  him  no  more  ques- 
tions then,  but  brought  cold  ham  from  the 
pantry  and  cider  from  the  cellar  and  ate 
and  drank  with  him.  The  visitor's  way 
117 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

with  the  food  and  drink  told  its  own  story 
and  sharpened  the  farmer's  pity.  They 
went  upstairs  on  tiptoe. 

"This  is  Peter's  room,"  said  Mr.  Stark- 
ley.  "Sleep  sound  and  as  long  as  you 
please — till  dinner  time,  if  you  like.  And 
don't  worry,  Jim." 

The  farmer  returned  to  his  own  room 
and  found  his  wife  sleeping  quietly.  He 
wakened  her  and  told  her  of  young  Ham- 
mond's visit  and  all  that  he  knew  of  his 
story. 

"I  am  glad  you  took  him  in,"  she  said. 
"We  must  help  him  for  our  boys'  sakes, 
even  if  he  is  a  deserter." 

"Yes,"  answered  Mr.  Starkley,  "we  must 
help  him  through  his  shame  and  trouble— 
and  then  he  may  right  the  other  matter  of 
his  own  free  will.     We'll  give  him  a  chance, 
anyway." 

118 


PETER'S  ROOM 


It  was  dinner  time  when  Jim  Hammond 
awoke  from  his  sleep  of  physical  and  ner- 
vous exhaustion.  He  was  puzzled  to  know 
where  he  was  at  first,  but  the  memory  of 
the  night's  adventure  came  to  him,  bring- 
ing both  shame  and  relief.  He  had  no 
watch  to  tell  him  the  time,  and  there  was 
no  clock  in  the  room.  He  had  brought 
nothing  with  him — not  a  watch,  or  a  dol- 
lar, or  a  shirt — nothing  except  his  guilt  and 
his  shame.  He  flinched  at  the  thought 
of  meeting  Mrs.  Starkley  and  the 
girls. 

A  knock  sounded  on  the  door,  and  John 
Starkley  looked  in  and  wished  him  good 
morning.  "If  you  get  up  now,  Jim,  you'll 
be  in  time  for  dinner,"  he  said.  "Here  is 
hot  water  and  a  shaving  kit — and  a  few 
duds  of  Henry's  and  Peter's  you  can  use  if 
119 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

you  care  to.  Set  your  mind  at  rest  about 
the  family,  Jim.  I  have  told  my  wife  all 
that  I  know  myself,  and  she  feels  as  I  do. 
As  for  the  girls — well,  I  will  let  them  know 
as  much  as  is  necessary.  We  mean 
to  help  you  to  get  on  your  feet  again, 
Jim." 

The  deserter  shaved  with  care,  dressed 
in  his  own  seedy  garments  and  went  slowly 
downstairs.  He  entered  the  kitchen.  Mrs. 
Starkley  and  Flora  were  there,  busy  about 
the  midday  dinner.  They  looked  up  at  him 
and  smiled  as  he  appeared  in  the  doorway, 
but  their  eyes  and  Flora's  quick  change  of 
color  told  him  of  the  quality  of  their  pity. 
They  would  feel  the  same,  he  knew,  for  any 
broken  and  drunken  tramp  in  the  ditch. 
But  he  was  a  more  despicable  thing  than 
a  drunken  tramp.  He  was  a  deserter,  a 
coward.  They  knew  that  of  him,  for  he 
120 


PETER'S  ROOM 


saw  it  in  their  eyes  that  tried  to  be  so  frank 
and  kind;  and  that  was  not  the  worst  of 
him.  He  could  not  advance  from  the 
threshold  or  meet  their  glances  again. 

Mrs.  Starkley  went  to  the  young  man 
quickly  and,  taking  his  hand  in  hers,  drew 
him  into  the  room.  Flora  came  forward 
and  gave  him  her  hand  and  said  she  was 
glad  to  see  him;  and  then  Emma  came  in 
from  the  dining  room  and  said,  "Hello,  Mr. 
Hammond!  I  hope  you  can  stay  here  a 
long  time ;  we  are  very  lonely." 

His  heart  was  so  shaken  by  those  words 
that  his  tongue  was  suddenly  loosened. 
He  looked  desperately,  imploringly  round, 
and  his  face  went  red  as  fire  and  then  white 
as  paper. 

"I'll  stay — if  you'll  let  me — until  I  pick 
up  my  nerve  again,"  he  said  quickly  and 
unsteadily.  "Keep  me  hidden  here  from 
121 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

Stanley  and  my  folks.  I'll  work  like  a  nig- 
ger. I  am  a  deserter,  as  you  all  know — and 
I  know  that  Peter  didn't  tell  you  so.  I'd 
do  anything  for  him,  after  that.  I'm  a 
runaway  soldier,  but  it  wasn't  because  I 
was  afraid  to  fight.  I'll  show  you  as  soon 
as  I'm  fit — I'll  go  and  fight.  It  was  my 
beastly  temper  and  drink  that  did  for  me. 
I've  been  near  crazy  since.  But  I'll  show 
you  my  gratitude  some  day — if  you  give  me 
a  chance  now  to  work  round  to  feeling  some- 
thing like  a  man  again." 

Flora  and  Emma  were  tongue-tied  by 
the  stress  of  their  emotions.  They  could 
only  gaze  at  their  guest  with  tear-dimmed 
eyes.  But  Mrs.  Starkley  went  close  to  him 
and  put  a  hand  on  each  of  his  drooped 
shoulders. 

"Of  course,  my  dear  boy,"  she  said. 
"You  are  only  a  boy,  Jim,  a  year  or  two 
122 


PETER'S  ROOM 


younger  than  Henry,  I  think.  Trust  us  to 
help  you." 

During  dinner  they  talked  about  the 
country,  the  war,  the  weather  and  the  stock 
—about  almost  everything  but  Jim  Ham- 
mond's affairs. 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do  this  after- 
noon?" asked  Jim  when  the  meal  was  over. 
"I  don't  know  much  about  farm  work,  but 
I  can  use  an  axe  and  can  handle  horses." 

"I  was  ploughing  this  morning;  and  this 
may  be  our  last  day  before  the  frost  sets  in 
hard,"  said  Mr.  Starkiey.  "What  about 
hitching  Peter's  mares  to  a  second  plow?" 

"Suit  me  fine,"  said  Jim. 

It  was  a  still,  bright  October  afternoon, 
with  a  glow  in  the  sunshine,  a  smell  of  fern 
and  leaf  in  the  air  and  a  veil  of  blue  mist  on 
the  farther  hills.  Frosts  had  nipped  the 
surface  of  things  lightly  a  score  of  times 
123 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

but  had  not  yet  struck  deep.  Jim  Ham- 
mond, in  a  pair  of  Peter's  long-legged  boots, 
guided  a  long  plough  behind  Peter's  black 
and  sorrel  mares.  The  mares  pulled  stead- 
ily, and  the  bright  plough  cut  smoothly 
through  the  sod  of  the  old  meadow.  Ovei 
against  the  fir  woods  on  the  far  side  of  the 
meadow  John  Starkley  went  back  and  forth 
behind  his  grays. 

Jim  rested  frequently  at  the  end  of  a  fur- 
row, for  he  was  not  in  the  pink  of  condi- 
tion. He  noticed,  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life,  the  faint  perfume  of  the  turned  loam 
and  torn  grass  roots.  He  liked  it.  His 
furrows,  a  little  uneven  at  first,  became 
straighter  and  more  even  until  they  were 
soon  almost  perfect. 

As  the  red  sun  was  sinking  toward  the 
western  forests,  Emma  appeared,  climbing 
over  the  rail  fence  from  a  grove  of  young 
124 


PETER'S  ROOM 


red  maples.  She  carried  something  under 
one  arm.  She  waved  a  hand  to  her  father 
but  came  straight  to  Jim.  He  stopped  the 
mares  midway  the  furrow. 

"I  made  these  gingernuts  myself,"  said 
Emma,  holding  out  an  uncovered  tin  box 
to  him.  "See,  they  are  still  hot.  Have 
some." 

He  accepted  two  and  found  them  very 
good.  The  girl  looked  over  his  work  ad- 
miringly and  told  him  she  had  never  seen 
straighter  furrows  except  a  few  of  Peter's 
ploughing.  Then  she  warned  him  that  in 
half  an  hour  she  would  blow  a  horn  for 
him  to  stop  and  went  across  to  her  father 
with  what  was  left  of  the  gingernuts. 
Hammond  went  on  unwinding  the  old  sod 
into  straight  furrows  until  the  horn  blew 
from  the  house. 

After  supper  he  played  cribbage  with  Mr. 
125 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

Starkley;  and  that  night  he  slept  soundly 
and  without  dreaming.  He  awoke  early 
enough  to  do  his  share  of  the  feeding  and 
milking  before  breakfast.  The  ploughs 
worked  again  that  day,  but  the  next  night 
brought  a  frost  that  held  tight. 

The  days  went  by  peacefully  for  Jim 
Hammond.  He  never  went  on  the  high- 
way or  away  from  Beaver  Dam  and  Peter's 
place.  Sometimes,  when  people  came  to 
the  house,  he  sat  by  himself  in  his  room 
upstairs.  He  did  his  share  of  all  the  barn 
work,  twice  a  week  helped  Mrs.  Starkley 
and  the  girls  with  the  churning  and  cut 
cordwood  and  fence  rails  every  day.  He 
never  talked  much,  but  at  times  his  manner 
was  almost  cheerful.  And  so  the  days 
passed  and  October  ran  into  November. 
Snow  came  and  letters  from  France  and 
England.  The  family  treated  him  like  one 
126 


PETER'S  ROOM 


of  themselves,  with  never  a  question  to  em- 
barrass him  or  a  word  to  hurt  him.  He 
heard  news  of  his  family  occasionally,  but 
never  tried  to  see  them. 

"They  think  I  am  somewhere  in  the 
States,  hiding — or  that's  what  father 
thinks,"  he  said  to  Flora.  "Some  day  I'll 
write  to  mother — from  France." 

December  came  and  Christmas.  Jim 
kept  house  that  day  while  the  others  drove 
to  Stanley  and  attended  the  Christmas  ser- 
vice in  the  church  on  the  top  of  the  long 
hill.  A  week  later  a  man  in  a  coonskin 
coat  drove  up  to  the  kitchen  door.  Jim 
recognized  him  through  the  window  as  the 
postmaster  of  Stanley  and  retired  up  the 
back  stairs.  John  Starkley,  who  had 
just  come  in  from  the  barns,  opened  the 
door. 

"A  cablegram  for  you,  Mr.  Starkley," 
127 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

said  the  postmaster.  "In  was  wired 
through  from  Fredericton." 

He  held  out  the  thin;  envelope.  Mr. 
Starkley  stared  at  it,  but  did  not  move. 
His  eyes  narrowed,  and  his  face  looked 
suddenly  old. 

"No  call  to  be  afraid  of  it,"  said  the 
postmaster,  who  was  also  the  telegraph 
operator.  "I  received  it  and  know  what's 
in  it." 

Mr.  Starkley  took  it  then  and  tore  it 
open. 

"Peter  wounded.  Doing  fine.  Dick 
Starkley"  is  what  he  read.  He  sighed  with 
relief  and  called  to  Mrs.  Starkley  and  the 
girls.  Then  he  invited  the  man  from  Stan- 
ley in  to  dinner,  saying  he  would  see  to  the 
horse  in  a  minute. 

"You  can't  expect  much  better  news  than 
that  from  men  in  France,"  John  Starkley 
128 


PETER'S  ROOM 


said  to  his  wife.  "Wounded  and  doing 
fine — why,  that's  better  than  no  news,  by  a 
long  shot.  He  will  be  safe  out  of  the  line 
now  for  weeks,  perhaps  for  months.  Per- 
haps he  will  even  get  to  England.  He  is 
safe  at  this  very  minute,  anyway." 

He  excused  himself,  went  upstairs  and 
told  Jim  Hammond  the  news. 

"That  is  twice  for  Peter  already,"  he 
said,  "once  right  at  home  and  once  in 
Flanders.  If  this  one  isn't  any  worse  than 
the  first,  we  have  nothing  to  worry  about." 

"I  hope  it  is  just  bad  enough  to  give  him 
a  good  long  rest,"  said  Jim  in  a  low  voice. 

The  postmaster  stayed  to  dinner,  and 
Emma  smuggled  roast  beef  and  pudding  up 
to  Jim  in  his  bedroom.  No  sooner  had 
that  visitor  gone  than  another  drove  up. 
This  other  was  Vivia  Hammond;  and  once 
more  Jim  retired  to  his  room.  Vivia  had 
129 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

heard  of  the  cablegram,  but  nothing  of  its 
import.     Her  face  was  white  with  anxiety. 

"What  is  it?"  she  cried.  "The  cable- 
what  is  it  about?" 

"Peter  is  right  as  rain — wounded  but  do- 
ing fine,"  said  John. 

Vivia  cried  and  then  laughed. 

"I  love  Peter,  and  I  don't  care  who  knows 
it!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  hope  he  has  lost 
a  leg,  so  they'll  have  to  send  him  home. 
That  sounds  dreadful — but  I  love  him  so — 
and  what  does  a  leg  matter?"  She  turned 
to  Mrs.  Starkley.  "Did  he  ever  tell  you 
he  loved  me?"  she  asked. 

"He  didn't  have  to  tell  us,"  answered 
Mrs.  Starkley,  smiling. 

"He  does!  He  does!"  exclaimed  the 
girl,  and  then  began  to  cry  again;  and  Jim, 
imprisoned  upstairs,  wished  she  would  go 
home. 

130 


CHAPTER  VI 

DAVE  HAMMER  GETS  HIS  COMMISSION 

BY  the  middle  of  January,  1916,  Peter 
was  in  London  again,  now  minus 
one  leg  but  otherwise  in  the  pink  of 
condition.     Davenport,  with  his  crutch  and 
stick  and  shadowing  valet,  visited  him  daily 
in  hospital.     He  and  Peter  wrote  letters  to 
Beaver  Dam — and  Peter  wrote  a  dozen  to 
Stanley. 

Capt.  Starkley-Davenport  had  power. 
Warbroken  and  propped  between  his  crutch 
and  stick,  still  he  was  powerful.  A  spirit 
big  enough  to  animate  three  strong  men 
glowed  in  his  weak  body,  and  he  went  after 
the  medical  officers,  nursing  sisters  and 
V.  A.  D.'s  of  that  hospital  like  a  lieutenant 
general  looking  for  trouble.  He  saw  that 
131 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

Peter  received  every  attention,  and  then  that 
every  other  man  in  the  hospital  received  the 
same — and  yet  he  was  as  polite  as  your 
maiden  aunt.  Several  medical  officers,  in- 
cluding a  colonel,  jumped  on  him — figura- 
tively speaking — only  to  jump  back  again 
as  if  they  had  landed  on  spikes. 

As  soon  as  he  regarded  Peter  as  fit  to  be 
moved  he  took  him  to  his  own  house.  There 
the  queer  servants  waited  on  Peter  day  and 
night  in  order  of  seniority.  They  addressed 
him  as  "Sergt.  Peter,  sir." 

Over  in  Flanders  things  had  bumped  and 
smashed  along  much  as  usual  since  Christ- 
mas morning.  Mr.  Scammell  had  read  his 
promotion  in  orders  and  the  London  Ga- 
zette, had  put  up  his  third  star  and  had 
gone  to  brigade  as  staff  captain,  Intelli- 
gence; and  David  Hammer,  with  the  act- 
ing rank  of  sergeant  major,  carried  on  in 
132 


DAVE  HAMMER 


command  of  the  battalion  scouts.  Hiram 
Sill  had  been  awarded  the  Distinguished 
Conduct  Medal  for  his  work  on  Christmas 
morning  and  the  two  chevrons  of  a  corp- 
oral for  his  work  in  general.  A  proud  man 
was  Corp.  Sill,  with  that  ribbon  on  his 
chest. 

The  changes  and  chances  of  war  had 
also  touched  Dick  Starkley  and  Frank  Sac- 
obie.  Lieut.  Smith  had  persuaded  Dick  to 
leave  the  scouts  and  become  his  platoon  ser- 
geant; Sacobie  was  made  an  acting  ser- 
geant— and  the  night  of  that  very  day,  while 
he  was  displaying  his  new  chevrons  in  No 
Man's  Land,  he  received  a  wound  in  the 
neck  that  put  him  out  of  the  line  for  two 
weeks. 

Henry  Starkley — a  captain  now — man- 
aged to  visit  the  battalion  about  twice  a 
month.  It  was  in  the  fire  trench  that  he 
133 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

found  Dick  one  mild  and  sunny  morning 
of  the  last  week  of  February.  The  brothers 
grinned  affectionately  and  shook  hands. 

"Peter  has  sailed  for  home,  wooden  leg 
and  all,"  said  Henry.  "I  got  a  letter  yester- 
day from  Jack  Davenport.  Except  for  the 
sneaking  Hun  submarines,  Peter  is  fairly 
safe  now." 

"I  hope  he  makes  the  farm,"  said  Dick. 
"He  was  homesick  for  it  every  minute  and 
working  out  crop  rotations  on  the  backs  of 
letters  every  night,  in  the  line  and  out — ex- 
cept when  he  was  righting." 

"There  was  something  about  you  in  Jack's 
letter.  He  says  that  offer  still  stands,  and 
he  seems  as  anxious  as  ever  about  it." 

Dick  sat  down  on  the  fire  step,  thrust  out 
his  muddy  feet  on  the  duck  boards  and 
gazed    at    them.     He    scratched    himself 
meditatively  in  several  places. 
134 


DAVE  HAMMER 


"I'd  like  fine  to  be  an  officer,"  he  said 
at  last.  "Almost  any  one  would.  But  I 
don't  want  to  leave  this  bunch  just  now. 
Jack's  crowd  will  want  officers  in  six  months 
just  as  much  as  now — maybe  more;  and  if 
I'm  lucky — still  in  fighting  shape  six  months 
from  now — I'll  be  better  able  to  handle 
the  job." 

"I'll  write  that  to  Jack,"  said  Henry. 
"He  will  understand — and  your  platoon 
commander  will  be  pleased.  He  and  the 
adjutant  talked  to  me  to-day  as  if  something 
were  coming  to  you — a  D.  C.  M.,  I  think. 
What  happened  to  your  first  adjutant,  Capt. 
Long,  by  the  way?" 

"Long's  gone  west,"  replied  Dick  briefly. 

"I'm  sorry  to  hear  that.  Shell  get 
him?" 

"No,  sniper.  He  took  one  chance  too 
many." 

135 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

"I  heard  at  the  brigade  on  my  way  in  that 
your  friend,  Dave  Hammer,  has  his  com- 
mission. I  wonder  if  they  have  told  him 
yet." 

"Good!  Let's  go  along  and  tell  him. 
He  is  sleeping  to-day." 

They  found  Dave  in  his  little  dugout, 
with  the  mud  of  last  nfght's  expedition 
still  caked  on  his  person  from  heel  to  head. 
His  blankets  were  cast  aside,  and  he  lay 
flat  on  his  back  and  snored.  His  snores  had 
evidently  driven  the  proprietors  of  the 
other  bunks  out  of  that  confined  place,  for 
he  was  alone.  His  muddy  hands  clasped 
and  unclasped.  He  ceased  his  snoring  sud- 
denly and  gabbled  something  very  quickly 
and  thickly  in  which  only  the  word  "wire" 
was  recognizable.  Then  he  jerked  up  one 
leg  almost  to  his  chin  and  shot  it  straight 
again  with  terrific  force. 
136 


DAVE  HAMMER 


"He  is  fighting  in  his  dreams,  just  the 
way  my  old  dog  Snap  used  to,"  said  Dick. 
"We  may  as  well  wake  him  up,  for  he  isn't 
resting." 

ilGo  to  it — and  welcome,"  said  Henry. 
"It's  an  infantry  job." 

Dick  stooped  and  cried,  "Hello,  Dave!" 
but  the  sleeper  only  twitched  an  arm. 
"Wake  up!"  roared  Dick.  "Wake  up  and 
go  to  sleep  right!"  The  sleeper  closed  his 
mouth  for  a  second  but  did  not  open  his 
eyes.  He  groaned,  muttered  something 
about  too  much  light  and  began  to  snore 
again.  Dick  put  a  hand  on  his  shoulder — 
and  in  the  same  breath  of  time  he  was 
gripped  at  wrist  and  throat  with  fingers 
like  iron.  Grasping  the  hand  at  his  throat, 
Dick  pulled  a  couple  of  fingers  clear. 
Then  the  sleeper  closed  his  mouth  again  and 
opened  his  eyes  wide. 

137 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

''Oh,  it's  you,  Dick!"  he  said.  "Sorry. 
Must  have  been  dreaming." 

He  sat  up  and  shook  hands  with  Henry. 
When  he  heard  of  his  promotion  he  blushed 
and  got  out  of  his  bunk. 

"That's  a  bit  of  cheering  news,"  he  said 
"I'll  have  a  wash  on  the  strength  of  that, 
and  something  to  eat.  Wish  we  were  out, 
and  I'd  give  a  little  party.  Wonder  if  I 
can  raise  a  set  of  stars  to  wear  to-night, 
just  for  luck." 

Henry  went  away  half  an  hour  later,  and 
Dick  returned  to  the  fire  trench.  Capt. 
Keen,  the  adjutant,  came  looking  for  Ham- 
mer, found  him  still  at  his  toilet  and 
congratulated  him  heartily  on  his  promo- 
tion. 

"Come  along  and  feed  with  me,  if  you 
have  had  enough  sleep,"  said  the  adjutant 
"The  colonel  wants  to  see  you.     He  had  a 
138 


DAVE  HAMMER 


talk  with  you  yesterday,  didn't  he — about 
to-night's  job?" 

"Yes,  sir;  and  it  will  be  a  fine  job,  if  the 
weather  is  just  right.  Looks  now  as  if  it 
might  be  too  clear,  but  we'll  know  by  sun- 
down. I  was  dreaming  about  it  a  while 
ago.  We  were  in,  and  I  had  a  big  sentry 
by  the  neck  when  Dick  Starkley  woke  me 
up.  I  had  grabbed  Dick." 

"The  colonel  is  right,"  said  Capt.  Keen. 
"You're  working  too  hard,  Hammer,  and 
you're  beginning  to  show  it;  your  eyes  look 
like  the  mischief.  This  fighting  in  your 
sleep  is  a  bad  sign." 

"The  whole  army  could  do  with  a  rest, 
for  that  matter,"  replied  Hammer,  "but 
who  would  go  on  with  the  work?  What 
I  am  worrying  about  now  is  rank 
badges.  I'd  like  to  doll  up  a  bit  for  to- 
night." 

139 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

They  went  back  to  the  sandbagged  cellar 
under  the  broken  farmhouse  that  served 
as  headquarters  for  whatever  battalion  held 
that  part  of  the  line.  On  their  way  they 
had  borrowed  an  old  jacket  with  two  stars 
on  each  sleeve  from  Lieut.  Smith;  and  in 
that  garment  Dave  Hammer  appeared  at 
the  midday  meal.  The  colonel,  the  medi- 
cal officer,  the  padre  and  the  quartermaster 
were  there.  They  congratulated  Dave  on 
his  promotion,  and  the  colonel  placed  him 
at  his  right  hand  at  the  table  on  an  upended 
biscuit  box. 

The  fare  consisted  of  roast  beef  and 
boiled  potatoes,  a  serviceable  apple  pie  and 
coffee.  The  conversation  was  of  a  general 
character  until  after  the  attack  on  the  pie — 
an  attack  that  was  driven  to  complete  suc- 
cess only  by  the  padre,  who  prided  himself 
on  the  muscular  development  of  his  jaws. 
140 


DAVE  HAMMER 


The  commanding  officer,  somewhat  daunted 
in  spirit  by  the  pastry,  looked  closely  at  the 
lieutenant. 

"You  need  a  rest,  Hammer,"  he  said. 
"Keen,  didn't  I  tell  you  yesterday  that 
Hammer  must  take  a  rest?  Doc,  just  slant 
an  eye  at  this  young  officer  and  give  me 
your  opinion.  Doesn't  he  look  like  all-get- 
out?" 

"Looks  like  get-out-of-the-front-line  to 
me,  sir,"  said  the  medical  officer.  "A 
couple  of  weeks  back  would  set  him  on 
his  feet.  You  say  the  word,  sir,  and  I'll 
send  him  back  this  very  day." 

"But  the  show!"  exclaimed  Hammer. 
"I  must  go  out  .to-night,  sir!" 

"Hammer  is  the  only  officer  with  his 
party,  sir,"  said  Capt.  Keen  to  the  colonel. 
"As  you  know,  sir,  we  held  the  organiza- 
tion down  this  time  to  only  one  officer  with 
141 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

each    of    our    four    parties — because    offi- 
cers  are   not  very  plentiful  with   us  just 


now." 


"That's  the  trouble!"  exclaimed  the  colo- 
nel. "They  hem  and  haw  and  chew  the 
rag  over  our  recommendations  for  comis- 
sions  and  keep  sending  us  green  officers 
from  England  who  don't  know  the  fine 
points  of  the  game.  So  here  we  are  forced 
to  let  Hammer  go  out  to-night,  when  he 
should  be  in  his  blankets.  But  back  he 
goes  to-morrow!" 

Dave  had  intended  to  sleep  that  after- 
noon, but  the  excitement  caused  by  the  news 
of  his  promotion  made  it  impossible.  He 
who  had  never  missed  a  minute's  slumber 
through  fear  of  death  was  set  fluttering  at 
heart  and  nerves  by  the  two  worsted  "pips" 
on  each  sleeve  of  his  borrowed  jacket. 
The  coat  was  borrowed — but  the  right  to 
142 


DAVE  HAMMER 


wear  the  stars  was  his,  his  very  own,  earned 
in  Flanders.  He  toured  the  trenches — fire, 
communication  and  support — feeling  that 
his  stars  were  as  big  as  pie  plates. 

Sentries,  whose  bayonet-tipped  rifles 
leaned  against  the  parapet,  saluted  and 
then  grasped  his  hand.  Subalterns  and 
captains  hailed  him  as  a  brother;  and  so 
did  sergeants,  with  a  "sir"  or  two  thrown 
in.  As  Dave  passed  on  his  embarrassed 
but  triumphant  way  down  the  trench  his 
heart  pounded  as  no  peril  of  war  had  ever 
set  it  pounding.  No  emperor  had  ever 
known  greater  ache  and  uplift  of  glory  than 
this  grand  conflagration  in  the  heart  and 
brain  of  Lieut.  David  Hammer,  Canadian 
Infantry. 

He  visited  his  scouts;  and  they  seemed  as 
pleased  at  his  "pips"  as  if  each  one  of  them 
had  got  leave  to  London.  Even  Sergt. 
143 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

Frank  Sacobie's  dark  and  calm  visage 
showed  flickers  of  emotion.  Corp.  Hiram 
Sill,  D.  C.  M.,  who  visioned  everything  in 
a  large  and  glowing  style,  saw  in  his  mind's 
eye  the  King  in  Buckingham  Palace  agree- 
ing with  some  mighty  general,  all  red  and 
gold  and  ribbons,  that  this  heroic  and  de- 
serving young  man  should  certainly  be 
granted  a  commission  for  the  fine  work  he 
was  doing  with  the  distinguished  scouts  of 
that  very  fine  regiment. 

"I  haven't  a  doubt  that  was  the  way  of 
it,"  said  Old  Psychology.  "People  with 
jobs  like  that  are  trained  from  infancy  to 
grasp  details;  and  I  bet  King  George  has 
the  name  of  everyone  of  us  on  the  tip  of  his 
tongue.  You  can  bet  your  hat  he  isn't  one 
to  give  away  Distinguished  Conduct  Med- 
als without  knowing  what  he  is  about." 

Hiram  joined  in  the  laughter  that  fol- 
144 


DAVE  HAMMER 


lowed  his  inspiring  statements;  not  that  he 
thought  he  had  said  anything  to  laugh  at, 
but  merely  to  be  sociable. 

That  "show"  was  to  be  a  big  one — a  bri- 
gade affair  with  artillery  cooperation.  The 
battalion  on  the  right  was  to  send  out  two 
parties,  one  to  bomb  the  opposite  trench 
and  the  other  to  capture  and  demolish  a 
hostile  sap  head — and  together  to  raise  Old 
Ned  in  general  and  so  hold  as  much  of  the 
enemy's  attention  as  possible  from  the  main 
event.  The  battalion  on  the  left  was  to 
put  on  an  exhibition  of  rifle,  machine-gun 
and  trench-mortar  fire  that  would  assuredly 
keep  the  garrison  opposite  occupied  with 
its  own  affairs. 

As  for  the  artillery,  it  had  already  worked 
through  two  thirds  of  its  elaborate  pro- 
gramme. Four  nights  ago  it  had  put  on  a 
shoot  at  two  points  in  the  hostile  wire  and 
145 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

front  line,  three  hundred  yards  apart,  short 
but  hot.  Then  it  had  lifted  to  the  support 
and  reserve  trenches.  Three  nights  ago  it 
had  done  much  the  same  things,  but  not  at 
the  same  hours,  and  on  a  wider  frontage. 
The  enemy,  sure  of  being  raided,  had 
turned  on  his  lights  and  his  machine  guns 
on  both  occasions — on  nothing.  He  could 
do  nothing  then  toward  repairing  his  wire, 
for  after  our  guns  had  churned  up  his  en- 
tanglements our  machine  guns  played  upon 
the  scene  and  kept  him  behind  his  parapet. 
The  batteries  had  been  quiet  two  nights  ago, 
and  Fritz,  expecting  a  raid  in  force,  had 
lost  his  nerve  entirely.  Our  eighteen 
pounders  had  lashed  him  at  noon  the  next 
day,  and  again  at  sunset  and  again  at  eleven 
o'clock;  and  so  he  had  sat  up  all  night 
again  with  his  nerves. 
At  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  this 
146 


DAVE  HAMMER 


day  of  Dave  Hammer's  promotion  the  bat- 
teries went  at  it  again,  smashing  wire  and 
parapets  with  field  guns  and  shooting  up 
registered  targets  farther  back  with  heavier 
metal.  When  hostile  batteries  retaliated, 
we  did  counter-battery  work  with  such 
energy  and  skill  that  we  soon  had  the 
last  word  in  the  argument.  The  deeds 
of  the  gunners  put  the  infantry  in  high 
spirits. 

The  afternoon  grew  misty;  shortly  after 
five  o'clock  there  was  a  shower.  At  half 
past  seven  scouts  went  out  from  the  26th 
and  the  battalion  on  the  right  and,  return- 
ing, reported  that  the  wire  was  nicely  ripped 
and  chewed.  At  eight  the  battalion  on  the 
left  put  on  a  formidable  trench-mortar 
shoot,  which  quite  upset  the  nerve-torn 
enemy.  Then  all  was  at  rest  on  that  par- 
ticular piece  of  the  western  front — except 
147 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

for  the   German   illumination — until  half 
past  twelve. 

Half  past  twelve  was  Zero  Hour.  A 
misty  rain  was  seeping  down  from  a  slate- 
gray  sky.  Six  lieutenants  in  the  fire  trench 
of  two  battalions  took  their  eyes  from  the 
dials  of  their  wrist  watches,  said  "time"  to 
their  sergeants  and  went  over,  with  their 
men  at  their  heels  and  elbows.  The  two 
larger  parties  from  our  battalion  were  to 
get  into  the  opposite  trench  side  by  side, 
there  separate  one  to  the  left  and  one  to  the 
right,  do  what  they  could  in  seven  minutes 
or  until  recalled,  then  get  out  and  run  for 
home  with  their  casualties — if  any.  They 
were  to  pass  their  prisoners  out  as  they  col- 
lared them.  The  smaller  parties  were 
made  up  of  riflemen,  stretcher  bearers  and 
escorts  for  the  prisoners.  The  raiding 
parties  were  commanded  by  Mr.  Hammer, 
148 


DAVE  HAMMER 


with  Sergt.  Sacobie  second  in  command, 
and  Mr.  Smith,  with  Sergt.  Richard  Stark- 
ley  second  in  command.  Corp.  Hiram  Sill 
was  in  Hammer's  crowd. 

Captain  Scammell  from  brigade,  the 
colonel  and  the  adjutant  stood  in  the  trench 
at  the  point  of  exit.  Suddenly  they  heard 
the  dry,  smashing  reports  of  grenades 
through  the  chatter  of  machine-gun  fire  on 
the  left.  The  bombs  went  fast  and  furious, 
punctuated  by  the  crack  of  rifles  and  bursts 
of  pistol  fire.  S.  O.  S.  rockets  went  up  from 
the  German  positions;  and,  as  if  in  answer 
to  those  signals,  our  batteries  laid  a  heavy 
barrage  on  and  just  in  rear  of  the  enemy's 
support  trenches.  The  colonel  flashed  a 
light  on  his  wrist. 

"They  have  been  in  four  minutes,"  he 
said. 

At  that  moment  a  muddy  figure  with 
149 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

blackened  face  and  hands  and  a  slung  rifle 
on  his  back  scrambled  into  the  trench, 
turned  and  pulled  something  over  the 
parapet  that  sprawled  at  the  colonel's 
feet. 

"Here's  one  of  them,  sir;  and  there's  more 
coming,"  said  the  man  of  mud.  "Ah! 
Here's  another.  Boost  him  over,  you  fel- 
lers." 

Into  the  trench  tumbled  another  Fritz, 
and  then  a  third,  and  then  a  Canadian,  and 
then  two  more  prisoners  and  the  third 
Canadian. 

"Five,"  said  the  last  of  the  escort.  "Us 
three  started  for  home  with  eight,  but  some- 
thing hit  the  rest  of  'em — T-M  bomb,  I 
reckon." 

"Sure  it  was,"  said  the  Canadian  who  had 
arrived  first.  "Don't  I  know?  I  got  a 
chunk  of  it  in  my  leg."  He  stooped  and 
150 


"'HERE'S  ONE  OF  THEM,  SIR;  AND  THERE'S  MORE 
COMING/  SAID  THE  MAN  OF  MUD." 


DAVE  HAMMER 


fumbled  at  the  calf  of  his  right  leg.  The 
adjutant  turned  a  light  on  him,  and  the  man 
extended  his  hand,  dripping  with  blood. 

"You  beat  it  for  the  M.  O.,  my  lad," 
said  the  colonel. 

Five  more  prisoners  came  in  under  a 
guard  of  two;  and  then  six  more  of  the 
raiders  arrived,  two  of  whom  were  carry- 
ing Lieut.  Smith.  The  lieutenant's  head 
was  bandaged  roughly,  and  the  dressing 
was  already  soaked  with  blood. 

"We  did  them  in,  sir,"  he  said  thickly  to 
the  colonel.  "Caught  them  in  bunches — 
and  bombed  three  dugouts." 

He  was  carried  away,  still  muttering  of 
the  fight.  By  that  time  the  majority  of  the 
other  parties  were  in.  Several  of  the  men 
were  wounded — and  they  had  brought  their 
dead  with  them,  three  in  number.  The 
Germans  had  turned  their  trench  mortars 
151 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

on  their  own  front  line  from  their  support 
trenches. 

"They're  not  all  in  yet,"  said  Capt.  Keen. 
"Hammer  isn't  in." 

Just  then  Dick  Starkley  slid  into  the 
trench. 

"That  you,  Dick?  Did  you  see  Mr. 
Hammer?  Or  Frank  Sacobie?  Or  Bruce 
McDonald?" 

"I  have  McDonald — but  some  one's  got 
to  help  me  lift  him  over,"  said  Dick  breath- 
lessly. "Heavy  as  a  horse — and  hit  pretty 
bad!" 

Two  men  immediately  slipped  over  the 
top  and  hoisted  big  McDonald  into  the 
trench.  Hiram  Sill  put  a  hand  on  Dick's 
shoulder. 

"Dave  Hammer  and  Sacobie,"  he  whis- 
pered, "are  still  out.  Hadn't  we  better— 

"Right,"  said  Dick.  "Come  on  out." 
152 


DAVE  HAMMER 


He  turned  to  Capt.  Scammell.  "Please 
don't  let  the  guns  shorten  for  a  minute  or 
two,  sir;  Sill  and  I  have  to  go  out  again." 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer  they 
whipped  over  the  sandbags.  Hiram  was 
back  in  two  minutes.  He  turned  on  the 
fire  step  and  received  something  that  Dick 
and  Frank  Sacobie  lifted  over  to  him.  It 
was  Dave  Hammer,  unconscious  and  breath- 
ing hoarsely,  with  his  eyes  shut,  his  bor- 
rowed tunic  drenched  with  mud  and  blood 
and  one  of  his  bestarred  sleeves  shot  away. 
Capt.  Scammell  swayed  against  the  colo- 
nel and,  for  a  second,  put  his  hand  to  his 
eyes. 

"Steady,  lad,  steady,"  said  the  colonel  in 
a  queer,  cracked  voice.  "Keen,  tell  the 
'guns  to  drop  on  their  front  line  with  all 
they've  got — and  then  some." 

To  the  whining  and  screeching  of  our 
153 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

shells  driving  low  overhead  and  the  tumul- 
tuous chorus  of  their  exploding,  passed  the 
undismayed  soul  of  Lieut.  David  Hammer 
of  the  Canadian  Infantry. 

Heedless  of  the  coming  and  going  of  the 
shells  and  the  quaking  of  the  parapet,  Sac- 
obie  sat  on  the  fire  step  with  his  hands  be- 
tween his  knees  and  stared  fixedly  at  noth- 
ing; but  Hiram  Sill  and  young  Dick  Stark- 
ley  wept  without  thought  of  concealment, 
and  their  tears  washed  white  furrows  down 
their  blackened  faces. 


154 


CHAPTER  VII 

PETER  WRITES  A  LETTER 

IN  March,  1916,  Sergt.  Peter  Starkley 
got  back  to  his  own  country,  bigger 
in  the  chest  and  an  inch  taller  than 
when  he  had  gone  away.  He  walked  a  little 
stiffly  on  his  right  foot,  it  is  true — but  what 
did  that  matter?  His  letters  to  the  people 
at  home  had,  by  intention,  given  them  only 
a  vague  idea  of  the  possible  date  of  his  ar- 
rival. They  knew  that  he  was  coming,  that 
he  was  well,  and  that  his  new  leg  was  such 
a  masterpiece  of  construction  that  he  had 
danced  on  it  in  London  on  two  occasions. 
Otherwise  he  was  unannounced. 

He  went  to  the   town  of   Stanley  first 
and  left  his  baggage  in  the  freight  shed 
at  the  siding.     With  his  haversack  on  his 
155 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

shoulder  and  a  stout  stick  in  his  right  hand, 
he  set  out  along  the  white  and  slippery 
road.  Before  he  got  to  the  bridge  a  two- 
horse  sled  overtook  him,  and  the  driver,  an 
elderly  man  whom  he  did  not  know,  in- 
vited him  to  climb  on.  Peter  accepted  the 
invitation  with  all  the  agility  at  his  com- 
mand. 

"You  step  a  mite  lame  on  your  right  leg," 
said  the  driver. 

"That's  so,"  replied  Peter,  smiling. 

"Been  soldierin',  hey?  See  any  fight- 
in'?" 

"Yes,  I've  been  in  Flanders." 

"That  so?  I've  got  a  boy  in  the  war. 
Smart  boy,  too.  They  give  him  a  job  right 
in  England.  He  wears  spurs  to  his  boots, 
he  does;  and  it  ain't  everyone  kin  wear  them 
spurs,  he  writes  me.  This  here  war  ain't 
all  in  Flanders.  We  had  some  shootin' 
156 


PETER  WRITES  A  LETTER 

round  here  about  a  year  back  out  Pike's  Set- 
tlement way.  A  young  feller  in  soldier  uni- 
form was  drivin'  along,  and  some  one  shot 
at  him  from  the  woods.  That's  what  he 
said,  but  my  boy — that  was  afore  he  went 
to  the  war — says  like  enough  he  shot  him- 
self so's  to  git  out  of  goin'.  He's  a  smart 
lad — that's  why  they  give  him  a  job  in  Eng- 
land. Army  Service  Corps,  he  is — so  I 
reckon  maybe  he's  right  about  that  feller 
shootin'  himself." 

"What's  his  name?"  asked  Peter  quietly. 

"Starkley.  Peter  Starkley  from  Beaver 
Dam." 

"I'm  asking  the  name  of  that  smart  son 
of  yours." 

"Gus  Tedder's  his  name — Gus  Todder, 
junior.  Maybe  you  know  him,"  was  the 
reply. 

"No,  but  I've  got  his  number,"  said  Peter. 
157 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

"You  tell  him  so  in  the  next  letter  you  write 
him.  Tell  him  that  Sergt.  Peter  Starkley 
of  the  26th  Canadian  Infantry  Battalion  will 
be  glad  to  see  him  when  he  comes  home; 
tell  him  not  to  cut  himself  on  those  spurs 
of  his  in  the  meantime;  and  you'd  better 
advise  him  to  warn  his  father  not  to  shoot 
his  mouth  off  in  future  to  military  men 
about  things  he  is  ignorant  of.  Here's 
where  I  get  off.  Thanks  for  the  lift." 

Peter  left  the  sled,  but  turned  at  the 
other's  voice  and  stood  looking  back  at  him. 

"I  didn't  get  the  hang  of  all  that  you  was 
sayin',"  said  Todder.  He  was  plainly  dis- 
concerted. 

"Never  mind;  your  son  will  catch  the 
drift  of  it,"  replied  Peter.  "I  am  too  happy 
about  getting  home  to  be  fussy  about  little 
things,  but  don't  chat  quite  so  freely  with 
every  returned  infantryman  you  see  about 
158 


PETER  WRITES  A  LETTER 

your  son's  smartness.  You  call  it  smart- 
ness— but  the  fellows  up  where  I  left  my 
right  leg  have  another  name  for  it." 

Opening  the  white  gate,  he  went  up  the 
deep  and  narrow  path  between  snow  banks 
to  the  white  house.  At  the  top  of  the  short 
flight  of  steps  that  led  to  the  winter  porch 
that  inclosed  the  front  door,  he  looked  over 
his  shoulder  and  saw  Todder  still  staring 
at  him.  Peter  grinned  and  waved  his 
hand,  then  opened  the  door  of  the  porch. 

As  he  closed  the  door  behind  him,  the 
house  door  opened  wide  before  him. 
Vivia  stood  on  the  threshold.  She  stared 
at  him  with  her  eyes  very  round  and  her 
lips  parted,  but  she  did  not  move  or  speak. 
She  held  her  slim  hands  clasped  before  her 
— clasped  so  tight  that  the  knuckles  were 
colorless.  Her  small  face,  which  had  been 
as  pale  as  her  clasped  hands  at  the  first 
159 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

glimpse,  turned  suddenly  as  red  as  a  rose; 
and  her  eyes,  which  had  been  very  bright 
even  to  their  wonderful  depths,  were 
dimmed  suddenly  with  a  shimmer  of  tears. 
And  for  a  long  time — for  ten  full  seconds, 
it  may  have  been — Peter  also  stood  motion- 
less and  stared.  The  heavy  stick  slipped 
from  his  fingers  and  fell  with  a  clatter  on 
the  floor  of  the  porch.  He  stepped  for- 
ward then  and  enfolded  her  in  his  khaki- 
clad  arms,  safe  and  sure  against  the  big 
brass  buttons  of  his  greatcoat;  and  just  then 
the  door  of  the  porch  opened,  and  Mr. 
Todder  said: 

"I  ain't  got  the  hang  of  yer  remarks  yet, 
young  feller." 

"Chase   yourself    away   home,"    replied 

Peter,  without  turning  his  head;  and  there 

was  something  in  the  tone  of  his  voice  that 

caused  Mr.  Todder  to  withdraw  his  head 

160 


PETER  WRITES  A  LETTER 

from  the  porch  and  to  retire,  muttering,  to 
his  sled.  Vivia  had  not  paid  the  slightest 
heed  to  the  interruption.  She  drew  Peter 
into  the  hall. 

"I  was  afraid,"  she  whispered.  "I  didn't 
know  how  much  they  had  hurt  you,  Peter 
— but  I  wasn't  afraid  of  that.  I  should  love 
you  just  as  much  if  they  had  crippled  you, 
— I  am  so  selfish  in  my  love,  Peter, — but  I 
was  afraid,  at  first,  that  I  might  see  a 
change  in  your  eyes." 

"There  couldn't  be  a  change  in  my  eyes 
when  I  look  at  you,  unless  I  were  blind," 
said  Peter.  "Even  if  I  were  blind,  I  guess 
I  could  see  you.  But  I  am  the  same  as  I 
was,  inside  and  out — all  except  a  bit  of 
a  patent  leg." 

Just  then  Mrs.  Hammond  made  her  dis- 
creet appearance,  expressed  her  joy  and  sur- 
prise at  the  sight  of  Peter  and  ventured  a 
161 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

motherly  kiss.  Mr.  Hammond  came  in 
from  the  store  half  an  hour  later  and  wel- 
comed Peter  cordially.  The  man  had  lost 
weight,  and  his  face  was  grim.  He  got 
Peter  to  himself  for  a  few  minutes  just  be- 
fore supper. 

"Jim  is  still  on  the  other  side  the  border 
somewhere,  I  guess,"  he  said,  "though  I 
haven't  heard  from  him  for  months.  I've 
kept  the  shooting  business  quiet,  Peter — and 
even  about  his  deserting;  but  I  had  to  tell 
ihis  mother  and  Vivia  that  he  wasn't  any 
good  as  a  soldier  and  had  gone  away.  I 
made  up  some  kind  of  story  about  it. 
Other  people  think  he's  in  France,  I  guess 
— even  your  folks  at  Beaver  Dam.  But 
what  do  you  hear  of  Pat?  He  isn't  much 
of  a  hand  at  writing  letters,  but  was  well 
when  he  wrote  last  to  his  mother." 

"I  didn't  see  him  over  there,  but  Henry 
162 


PETER  WRITES  A  LETTER 

ran  across  him  and  said  that  he  is  doing 
fine  work.  He's  got  his  third  pip  and  is 
attached  to  headquarters  of  one  of  the  bri- 
gades of  the  First  Division  as  a  learner. 
He  has  been  wounded  once,  I  believe,  but 
very  slightly." 

"And  I  used  to  think  that  Pat  wasn't 
much  good — too  easy-going  and  loose- 
footed,"  said  Mr.  Hammond  bitterly.  "My 
idea  of  a  man  was  a  storekeeper.  Well, 
I  think  of  him  now,  and  I  stick  out  my 
chest — and  then  I  remember  Jim,  and  my 
chest  caves  in  again." 

They  were  interrupted  then  by  Vivia;  so 
nothing  more  was  said  about  the  deserter. 
After  supper  Peter  had  to  prove  to  the 
family  that  he  could  dance  on  his  new  leg. 

"I'll  hitch  the  grays  to  the  pung,"  said 
Mr.  Hammond  when  about  eight  o'clock 
Peter  got  ready  to  go.  "It's  a  fine  night, 
163 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

and  the  roads  are  a  marvel.  I'll  drive  you 
home." 

"And  I  am  going  too,"  said  Vivia. 

Dry  maple  sticks  burned  on  the  hearth 
of  the  big  Franklin  stove  in  the  sitting  room 
of  Beaver  Dam.  Flora  sat  at  the  big  table 
writing  a  letter  to  Dick;  John  Starkley  and 
Jim  Hammond  played  checkers;  and  Mrs. 
Starkley  nodded  in  a  chair  by  the  fire. 
Emma  had  gone  to  bed.  John  Starkley  had 
his  hand  raised  and  hovering  for  a  master 
move  when  a  jangle  of  bells  burst  suddenly 
upon  their  ears.  Flora  darted  to  a  win- 
dow, and  the  farmer  hastened  to  the  front 
door;  but  by  the  time  Flora  had  drawn  back 
the  curtains  and  her  father  had  opened  the 
door  Jim  Hammond  was  upstairs  and  in  his 
room. 

Jim  did  not  light  the  candle  that  stood 
on  the  window  sill  at  the  head  of  his  bed. 
164 


PETER  WRITES  A  LETTER 

He  closed  the  door  behind  him.  The 
blind  was  up;  starshine  from  the  world  of 
white  and  purple  and  silver  without  sifted 
faintly  into  the  little  room.  He  stood  for 
a  minute  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  listen- 
ing to  the  broken  and  muffled  sounds  of 
talk  and  laughter  from  the  lower  hall.  He 
heard  a  trill  of  Vivia's  laughter.  What 
had  brought  Vivia  out  again,  he  wondered. 
News  of  Peter,  beyond  a  doubt;  and 
good  news,  to  judge  by  the  sounds.  He 
seated  himself  cautiously  on  the  edge  of 
the  bed. 

Now  he  heard  his  father's  voice.  Yes — 
and  John  Starkley  was  laughing.  There 
was  another  man's  voice,  but  he  could  hear 
only  a  low  note  of  it  now  and  then  in  the 
confused,  happy  babble  of  sound.  A  door 
shut — and  then  he  could  not  hear  anything. 
He  wondered  who  the  third  man  was  and 
165 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

decided  that  he  probably  was  some  one 
from  the  village  who  had  just  arrived  home 
and  who  had  brought  messages  from  Peter. 
Perhaps,  he  thought,  Peter  was  even  then 
on  his  way  from  England. 

Jim  sat  there  with  the  faint  shine  of  the 
stars  falling  soft  on  the  rag  carpet  at  his 
feet  and  thought  what  wonderful  people 
the  Starkleys  were.  They  had  taken  him 
in  and  treated  him  like  one  of  the  family 
—and  like  a  white  man.  Now  that  Peter 
was  coming  home  and  would  be  able  to 
help  with  the  work,  he  would  go  away  and 
show  John  Starkley  that  he  had  found  his 
courage  and  his  manhood.  He  had  made 
his  plans  in  a  general  way  weeks  before. 
He  would  go  to  another  province  and  en- 
list in  the  artillery  or  in  the  infantry  under 
an  assumed  name;  if  he  "made  good,"  or 
got  killed,  John  Starkley  would  tell  all  the 
166 


PETER  WRITES  A  LETTER 

good  he  could  of  him  to  his  family  in  Stan- 
ley. Already  he  felt  lonely,  a  dreary  chill 
of  homesickness,  at  the  thought  of  leaving 
Beaver  Dam. 

A  door  opened  and  closed  downstairs, 
but  Jim  Hammond  was  too  busy  with  his 
thoughts  and  high  resolves  to  hear  the  faint 
sounds.  He  even  did  not  hear  the  feet  on 
the  carpeted  stairs — and  a  hand  was  on  the 
latch  of  the  door  before  he  knew  that  some 
one  was  about  to  enter  the  room.  He  sat 
rigid  and  stared  at  the  door. 

The  door  opened  and  some  one  entered 
who  bulked  large  and  tall  in  the  pale  half 
gloom  of  the  room.  The  visitor  halted  and 
turned  his  face  toward  the  bed. 

"Who's  there?"  he  asked;  and  Jim  could 
see  the  shoulders  lower  and  advance  a 
little  and  the  whole  figure  become  tense  as 
if  for  attack. 

167 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

"It's  me,  Peter!"  whispered  Jim  sharply 
"Shut  the  door  quick!" 

"You!  You,  Jim  Hammond!"  said 
Peter  in  a  voice  of  amazement  and  anger. 
"What  the  mischief  are  you  doing  here?" 
Without  turning  his  face  from  the  bed  he 
shut  the  door  behind  him  with  his  heel. 
"Light  the  candle  and  pull  down  the  shade. 
Let  me  see  you." 

Jim  got  to  his  feet  and  reached  for  the 
shade,  but  Peter  spoke  before  he  touched  it. 

"No!  The  candle  first!"  exclaimed 
Peter,  with  an  edge  to  his  voice.  "I  don't 
trust  you  in  the  dark  any  more  than  I  trust 
you  in  the  woods." 

Hammond  struck  a  match  and  lit  the 
candle,  then  drew  down  the  shade  and 
turned  with  his  back  to  the  window.  His 
face  was  pale.  "I  didn't  figure  on  your 
getting  home  so  soon,"  he  said  in  an  un- 
168 


PETER  WRITES  A  LETTER 

steady    voice.     "I    didn't    intend    to     be 
here.     I  thought  I'd  be  gone  before  you 


came." 


"What  are  you  doing  here,  anyway?" 
demanded  Peter.  "What's  the  game? 
Sitting  in  my  room,  on  my  bed,  quite  at 
home,  by  thunder!  And  your  father  thinks 
you  are  in  the  States.  Does  my  father 
know  you  are  here?" 

Jim  smiled  faintly.  "Yes,  he  knows — 
and  all  your  folks  know.  I've  been  here 
since  about  the  middle  of  October,  working, 
and  sleeping  in  this  room  every  night.  My 
people  don't  know  where  I  am — but  when 
I  get  to  France  you  can  tell  them.  Your 
father  doesn't  know  that  it  was  I  who  fired 
that  shot — and  when  I  found  you  hadn't 
told  him  that,  or  even  that  I  was  a  deserter, 
I  felt  it  was  up  to  me  to  do  my  best  for 
you  while  you  were  away.  So  I've  worked 
169 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

hard  and  been  happy  here;  and  I'll  be  sorry 
to  go  away — but  I  must  go  now  that  you're 
home  again.  Don't  tell  my  people  I'm 
here,  Peter." 

"You  have  been  living  here  ever  since 
the  middle  of  October,  working  here,  and 
your  own  father  and  mother  don't  know 
where  you  are?" 

"Your  people  are  the  only  ones  who 
know." 

Peter  eyed  him  in  silence  for  a  minute. 

"Why  did  you  shoot  me,  Jim?"  he  asked 
more  gently. 

"How  do  I  know?"  exclaimed  Ham- 
mond. "I  was  drinking;  I  was  just  about 
mad  with  drink.  I  liked  you  well  enough, 
Peter, — I  didn't  want  to  kill  you, — but  the 
devil  was  in  me.  It  was  drink  made  me 
act  so  bad  in  St.  John;  it  was  drink  made 
me  desert;  it  was  drink  that  came  near  mak- 
170 


PETER  WRITES  A  LETTER 

ing  a  murderer  of  me.  That's  the  truth, 
Peter — and  now  I  wish  you'd  go  down- 
stairs, for  I  don't  want  my  father  or  Vivia 
to  find  me  here — or  to  know  anything  about 
me  till  I'm  in  France." 

"Shall   I   find  you   here  when   I   come 
back?"  asked  Peter. 

"I'll   come   downstairs   as  soon   as   they 
go,"  said  Hammond. 

Peter  was  about  to  leave  the  room  when 
he  suddenly  remembered  the  errand  that 
had  brought  him  away  from  the  company 
downstairs.  It  was  a  photograph  of  him- 
self taken  at  the  age  of  five  years.  Vivia 
had  heard  of  it  and  asked  for  it;  and  be- 
fore either  of  his  parents  or  Flora  had  been 
able  to  think  of  a  way  of  stopping  him  he 
had  started  upstairs  for  it.  Now  he  found 
it  on  the  top  of  a  shelf  of  old  books  and 
wiped  off  the  dust  on  his  sleeve. 
171 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

"Vivia  wants  it,"  he  said,  smiling  self- 
consciously. 

He  found  Flora  waiting  at  the  head  of 
the  stairs  for  him. 

"It's  all  right;  I've  had  a  talk  with  him," 
he  whispered,  and  when  he  reached  the  sit- 
ting room  he  met  the  anxious  glances  of 
his  parents  with  a  smile  and  nod  that  set 
their  immediate  anxieties  at  rest. 

It  was  past  midnight  when  Vivia  and  her 
father  drove  away.  Then  Jim  came  down- 
stairs, and  Peter  shook  hands  with  him  in 
the  most  natural  way  in  the  world. 

"When  we  met  in  my  bedroom  we  were 
both  too  astonished  to  shake  hands,"  ex- 
plained Peter. 

"You  must  sleep  in  Dick's  room  now, 
Peter,"  said  Mrs.  Starkley. 

"Only  for  one  night,"  said  Jim,  trying 
to  smile  but  making  a  poor  job  of  it.     "I'll 
172 


PETER  WRITES  A  LETTER 

be  off  to-morrow,  now  that  Peter  is  home 
again — just  as  I  planned  all  along,  you 
know.  I — it  isn't  the  going  back  to  the 
army  I  mind ;  it  is — leaving  you  people." 

He  smiled  more  desperately  than  ever. 

Mrs.  Starkley  and  Flora  did  not  dare 
trust  their  voices  to  reply.  John  Starkley 
laid  a  hand  on  Jim's  shoulder  and  said, 
"Go  when  it  suits  you,  Jim,  and  come  back 
when  it  suits  you — and  we  shall  miss  you 
when  you  are  away,  remember  that." 

The  three  men  sat  up  for  another  hour, 
talking  of  Peter's  experiences  and  Jim's 
plans.  They  went  upstairs  at  last,  but  even 
then  neither  Peter  nor  Jim  could  sleep,  for 
the  one  was  restless  with  happiness  and  the 
other  with  the  excitement  of  impending 
change.  Peter  would  see  Vivia  on  the 
morrow,  and  Jim  would  meet  strange  faces. 
Peter  had  returned  to  the  security  that  he 
173 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

had  fought  and  shed  his  blood  for  and  to 
the  life  and  people  he  loved;  Jim's  fighting 
was  all  before  him,  and  behind  him  a  dis- 
grace to  be  outlived. 

After  a  while  Peter  got  up  and  went  to 
Jim's  room  in  his  pyjamas;  he  sat  on  the 
edge  of  Jim's  bed,  and  they  talked  of  the 
fighting  over  in  France. 

"I've  been  thinking  about  my  reenlist- 
ment,"  said  Jim,  "and  I  guess  I'll  take  a 
chance  on  my  own  name.  It's  my 
name  I  want  to  make  good." 

"Sounds  risky — but  I  don't  believe  it  is 
as  risky  as  it  sounds,"  said  Peter. 

"Not  if  I  go  far  enough  away  to  enlist — 
to  Halifax  or  Toronto.  There  must  be 
lots  of  Hammonds  in  the  army.  I'll  take 
the  risk,  anyway.  It  isn't  likely  I'll  run 
across  any  of  the  old  crowd.  None  of  our 
old  officers  would  be  hard  on  me,  I  guess,  if 
174 


PETER  WRITES  A  LETTER 

they  found  me  fighting  and  doing  my  duty." 

"Capt.  Long  is  dead.  A  great  many  of 
the  old  crowd  are  dead,  and  others  have 
been  promoted  out  of  the  regiment.  Re- 
member Dave  Hammer?" 

"Yes.  If  I  could  ever  be  as  good  a  sol- 
dier as  Dave  Hammer  I  think  I'd  forget — 
except  sometimes  in  the  middle  of  the  night, 
maybe — what  a  mean,  worthless  fellow  I 
have  been." 

"I'll  tell  you  what,  Jim,"  said  Peter  sud- 
denly, "I'll  write  a  letter  for  you  to  carry; 
and  if  any  one  spots  you  over  there  and  is 
nasty  about  it,  you  go  to  any  officer  you 
know  in  the  old  battalion  and  tell  the  truth 
and  show  my  letter.  I  guess  mat  will  clear 
your  name,  Jim,  if  you  do  your  duty." 

"You  don't  mean  to  put  everything  in  the 
letter,  do  you?" 

"Only  what  is  known  officially — that  you 
175 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

went  home  from  your  regiment  here  in 
Canada  on  pass,  started  acting  the  fool  and 
deserted.  That  is  the  charge  against  you, 
Jim — desertion.  But  it  is  the  mildest  sort 
of  desertion,  and  reenlistment  just  about 
offsets  it.  The  same  thing  done  in  France 
in  the  face  of  the  enemy  is  punished — you 
know  how." 

"Yes,  I  know  how  it  is  punished,"  said 
Hammond.  "You  wouldn't  worry  about 
that  if  you  knew  as  much  abom  now  I  feel 
now  as  I  do  myself.  Of  course  I've  got  to 
prove  it  before  you'll  believe  it,  Feter,  but 
I'm  not  afraid  to  fight." 

When  Peter  had  gone  back  to  his  room, 
he  sat  down  to  write  the  letter  that  Jim 
Hammond  was  to  carry  in  his  pocket.  It 
was  a  long  letter,  and  Peter  was  a  slow 
writer.  He  spared  no  pains  in  making 
every  point  of  his  argument  perfectly  clear. 
176 


PETER  WRITES  A  LETTER 

He  staked  the  military  reputation  of  the 
whole  Starkley  family  on  James  Ham- 
mond's future  behavior  as  a  soldier.  He 
sealed  it  with  red  wax  and  his  great-grand- 
father's seal  and  addressed  the  envelope  to 
"Any  Officer  of  the  26th  Can.  Infty.  Bn.  or 
of  any  Unit  of  the  Can.  Army  Corps  of  the 
B.  E.  F."  When  finally  he  had  the  letter 
done,  it  was  morning. 


177 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  26TH   "MOPS  UP" 

AFTER  Jim  Hammond  went  away 
from   Beaver    Dam   he   wrote    to 
Mrs.  Starkley  from  Toronto,  say- 
ing that  he  had  enlisted  in  a  new  infantry 
battalion  and  that  all  was  well  with  him. 
That  was  the  last  news  from  him,  or  of 
him,  to  be  received  at  Beaver  Dam  for 
many  months. 

The  war  held  and  crushed  and  sweated 
on  the  western  front.  Every  day  found  the 
Canadians  in  the  grinding  and  perilous  toil 
of  it.  In  April,  1916,  the  Second  Cana- 
dian Division  held  the  ground  about  St. 
Eloi  against  terrific  onslaughts.  Then  and 
there  were  fought  those  desperate  actions 
known  as  the  Battles  of  the  Craters.  Hi- 
178 


THE  26TH  "MOPS  UP' 


ram  Sill,  D.  C.  M.,  now  a  sergeant,  re- 
ceived a  wound  that  put  him  out  of  action 
for  nearly  two  months.  Dick  Starkley  was 
buried  twice,  once  beneath  the  lip  of  one 
of  the  craters  as  it  returned  to  earth  after 
a  jump  into  the  air,  and  again  in  his  dug- 
out. No  bones  were  broken,  but  he  had 
to  rest  for  three  days. 

Other  Canadian  divisions  moved  into  the 
Ypres  salient  in  April — back  to  their  first 
field  of  glory  of  the  year  before.  That 
salient  of  terrible  fame,  advanced  round 
the  battered  city  of  Ypres  like  a  blunt  spear- 
head driven  into  the  enemy's  positions,  will 
live  for  centuries  after  its  trenches  are 
leveled.  British  soldiers  have  fallen  in 
their  tens  of  thousands  in  and  beyond  and 
on  the  flanks  of  that  city  of  destruction. 
From  three  sides  the  German  guns  flailed 
it  through  four  desperate  years.  Masses 
179 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

of  German  infantry  surged  up  and  broke 
against  its  torn  edges,  German  gas  drenched 
it,  liquid  fire  scorched  it,  and  mines  blasted 
it.  Now  and  again  the  edge  of  that  sali- 
ent was  bent  inward  a  little  for  a  day  or  a 
week;  but  in  those  four  years  no  German 
set  foot  in  that  city  of  heroic  ruins  except 
as  a  prisoner. 

The  26th  Battalion  celebrated  Dominion 
Day — July  ist — by  raiding  a  convenient 
point  of  the  German  front  line.  The  as- 
sault was  made  by  a  party  of  twenty-five 
"other  ranks"  commanded  by  two  junior 
officers.  It  was  supported  by  the  fire  of 
our  heavy  field  guns  and  heavy  and  medium 
trench  mortars. 

Sergts.  Frank  Sacobie  and  Hiram  Sill 

were  of  the  party,  but  Dick  Starkley  was 

not.     Dick  could  not  be  spared  for  it  from 

his  duties  with  his  platoon,  for  he  was  in 

180 


THE  26TH  "MOPS  UP" 


acting  command  during  the  enforced  ab- 
sence of  Lieut.  Smith,  who  was  suffering 
at  a  base  hospital  from  a  combination  of 
gas  and  fever.  The  men  from  New  Bruns- 
wick were  observed  by  the  garrison  of  the 
threatened  trench  while  they  were  still  on 
the  wrong  side  of  the  inner  line  of  hostile 
wire,  and  a  heavy  but  wild  fire  was  opened 
on  them  with  rifles  and  machine  guns.  But 
the  raiders  did  not  pause.  They  passed 
through  the  last  entanglement,  entered  the 
trench,  killed  a  number  of  the  enemy  and 
collected  considerable  material  for  identi- 
fication. Their  casualties  were  few,  and  no 
wound  was  of  a  serious  nature.  Hiram 
Sill  was  dizzy  and  bleeding  freely,  but 
cheerful.  One  small  fragment  of  a  bomb 
had  cut  open  his  right  cheek,  and  another 
had  nicked  his  left  shoulder.  Sacobie  car- 
ried him  home  on  his  back. 
181 


It  was  a  little  affair,  remarkable  only  as 
a  new  way  of  celebrating  Dominion  Day, 
and  differed  only  in  minor  details  from  hun- 
dreds of  other  little  bursts  of  aggressive 
activity  on  that  front. 

Later  in  the  month  a  Distinguished  Ser- 
vice Order,  two  Military  Crosses,  four  Dis- 
tinguished Conduct  Medals  and  five  Mili- 
tary Medals  were  awarded  to  the  battalion 
in  recognition  of  its  work  about  St.  Eloi. 
Dick  Starkley  and  Frank  Sacobie  each  drew 
a  D.  C.  M.  A  few  days  after  that  Lieut. 
Smith  returned  from  Blighty  and  took  back 
the  command  of  his  platoon  from  Dick; 
and  at  the  same  time  he  informed  Dick 
that  he  was  earmarked  for  a  commission. 

The  Canadians  began  their  march  from 
the  Ypres  salient  to  the  Somme  on  Septem- 
ber i,  1916.  They  marched  cheerfully, 
glad  of  a  change  and  hoping  for  the  best. 
182 


THE  26TH  "MOPS  UP" 


The  weather  was  fine,  and  the  towns  and 
villages  through  which  they  passed  seemed 
to  them  pleasant  places  full  of  friendly 
people.  They  were  going  to  fight  on  a 
new  front;  and,  as  became  soldiers,  it  was 
their  firm  belief  that  any  change  would  be 
for  the  better. 

On  the  8th  of  September,  while  on  the 
march,  Dick  Starkley  was  gazetted  a  lieu- 
tenant of  Canadian  Infantry.  Mr.  Smith 
found  his  third  star  in  the  same  gazette, 
and  Dick  took  the  platoon.  Henry  visited 
the  battalion  a  few  days  later  and  presented 
to  the  new  lieutenant  an  old  uniform  that 
would  do  very  well  until  the  London  tailors 
were  given  a  chance.  Dick  was  a  proud 
soldier  that  day;  and  an  opportunity  of 
showing  his  new  dignity  to  the  enemy  soon 
occurred.  That  opportunity  was  the  fa- 
mous battle  of  Courcelette. 
183 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

From  one  o'clock  of  the  afternoon  of 
September  14  until  four  o'clock  the  next 
morning  our  heavy  guns  and  howitzers  be- 
labored with  high  explosive  shells  the  forti- 
fied sugar  refinery  and  its  strong  trenches 
and  the  village  of  Courcelette  beyond. 
Then  for  an  hour  the  big  guns  were  silent. 
The  battalions  of  the  Fourth  and  Sixth  Bri- 
gades waited  in  their  jumping-off  trenches 
before  Pozieres.  The  Fifth  Brigade,  of 
which  the  26th  Battalion  was  a  unit,  rested 
in  reserve. 

Dawn  broke  with  a  clear  sky  and  promise 
of  sunshine  and  a  frosty  tingle  in  the  air. 
At  six  o'clock  the  eighteen-pounder  guns 
of  nine  brigades  of  artillery,  smashing  into 
sudden  activity,  laid  a  dense  barrage  on 
the  nearest  rim  of  the  German  positions. 
Four  minutes  later  the  barrage  lifted  and 
jumped  forward  one  hundred  yards,  and 
184 


THE  26TH  "MOPS  UP' 


the  infantry  climbed  out  of  their  trenches 
and  followed  it  into  the  first  German 
trench.  The  fight  was  on  in  earnest,  and  in 
shell  holes,  in  corners  of  trenches  and 
against  improvised  barricades  many  great 
feats  of  arms  were  dared  and  achieved.  A 
tank  led  the  infantry  against  the  strongly 
fortified  ruins  of  the  refinery  and  toppled 
down  everything  in  its  path. 

Lieut.  Dick  Starkley  and  his  friends 
gave  ear  all  morning  to  the  din  of  battle, 
wished  themselves  farther  forward  in  the 
middle  of  it  and  wondered  whether  the 
brigades  in  front  would  leave  anything  for 
them  to  do  on  the  morrow.  Messages  of 
success  came  back  to  them  from  time  to 
time.  By  eight  o'clock,  after  two  hours  of 
fighting,  the  Canadians  had  taken  the 
formidable  trenches,  the  sugar  refinery,  a 
fortified  sunken  road  and  hundreds  of 
185 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

prisoners.     The  way  was  open  to  Cource- 
lette. 

"If  they  don't  slow  up — if  they  don't 
quit  altogether  this  very  minute1 — they'll 
be  crowding  right  in  to  Courcelette  and 
doing  us  out  of  a  job!"  complained  Sergt. 
Hiram  Sill.  "That's  our  job,  Courcelette 
is — our  job  for  to-morrow.  They've  done 
what  they  set  out  to  do,  and  if  they  go  ahead 
now  and  try  something  they  haven't  plan- 
ned for,  well,  they'll  maybe  bite  off  more 
than  they  can  chew.  The  psychology  of 
it  will  be  all  wrong;  their  minds  aren't 
made  up  to  that  idea." 

"I  guess  the  idee  ain't  the  hull  thing," 
remarked  a  middle-aged  corporal.  "Many 
a  good  job  has  been  done  kind  of  unex- 
pectedly in  this  war.  I  reckon  this  here 
psychology  didn't  have  much  to  do  with 
your  D.  C.  M." 

186 


THE  26TH  "MOPS  UP' 


"That's  where  you're  dead  wrong, 
Henry,"  said  Hiram.  "I  knew  I'd  get  a 
D.  C.  M.  all  along,  from  the  first  minute  I 
ever  set  foot  in  a  trench.  My  mind  and 
my  spirit  were  all  made  up  for  it.  I  knew 
I'd  get  a  D.  C.  M.  just  as  sure  as  I  know 
now  that  I'll  get  a  bar  to  it — if  I  don't  go 
west  first." 

Dick,  who  had  joined  the  group,  laughed 
and  smote  Hiram  on  the  shoulder. 

"You're  dead  right!"  he  exclaimed. 
"Old  Psychology,  you're  a  wonder  of  the 
age!  Be  careful  what  you  make  up  your 
heart  and  soul  and  mind  to  next  or  you'll 
find  yourself  in  command  of  the  division." 

"What  do  you  mean,  lieutenant?"  asked 
Sill. 

"You've  been  awarded  the  D.  C.  M. 
again,  that's  all!"  cried  Dick,  shaking  him 
violently  by  the  hand.  "You've  got  your 
187 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

bar,  Old  Psychology!  Word  of  it  just 
came  through  from  the  Brigade." 

Sergt.  Sill  blushed  and  grew  pale  and 
blushed  again. 

"Say,  boys,  I'm  a  proud  man,"  he  said. 
"There  are  some  things  you  can't  get  used 
to — and  being  decorated  for  distinguished 
conduct  on  the  field  of  glory  is  one  of  them, 
I  guess.  If  you'll  excuse  me,  boys, — and 
you,  lieutenant, — I'll  just  wander  along  that 
old  trench  a  piece  and  think  it  over  by  my- 
self." 

The  way  was  open  to  Courcelette.  The 
battalions  that  had  done  the  work  in  a  few 
hours  and  that,  despite  a  terrific  fire  from 
the  enemy,  had  established  themselves  be- 
yond their  final  objective,  were  anxious  to 
continue  about  this  business  without  pause 
and  clean  up  the  strongly  garrisoned  town. 
They  had  fought  desperately  in  those  few 
188 


THE  26TH  "MOPS  UP' 


hours,  however,  and  the  enemy's  fire  had 
taken  toll  of  them,  and  so  they  were  told  to 
sit  tight  in  their  new  trenches ;  but  the  com- 
mon sense  of  their  assertion  that  Courcelette 
itself  should  be  assaulted  without  loss  of 
time,  before  the  beaten  and  astounded 
enemy  could  recover,  was  admitted. 

At  half  past  three  o'clock  that  afternoon 
the  Fifth  Brigade  received  its  orders  and 
instructions  and  immediately  passed  them 
on  and  elaborated  them  to  the  battalions 
concerned.  By  five  o'clock  the  three  bat- 
talions that  were  to  make  the  attack  were 
on  their  way  across  the  open  country,  ad- 
vancing in  waves.  German  guns  battered 
them  but  did  not  break  their  alignment. 
They  reached  our  new  trenches  and,  with 
the  barrage  of  our  own  guns  now  moving 
before  them,  passed  through  and  over  the 
victorious  survivors  of  the  morning's  battle. 
189 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

The  French  Canadians  and  the  Nova 
Scotians  went  first  in  two  waves. 

Dick  Starkley  and  his  platoon  were  on 
the  right  of  the  front  line  of  the  26th,  which 
was  the  third  wave  of  attack.  "Mopping 
up"  was  the  battalion's  particular  job  on 
this  occasion. 

"Mopping  up,"  like  most  military  terms, 
means  considerably  more  than  it  suggests 
to  the  ear.  The  mops  are  rifles,  bombs  and 
bayonets;  the  things  to  be  mopped  are 
machine-gun  posts  still  in  active  operation, 
bays  and  sections  of  trenches  still  occupied 
by  aggressive  Germans,  mined  cellars  and 
garrisoned  dugouts.  Everything  of  a  men- 
acing nature  that  the  assaulting  waves  have 
passed  over  or  outflanked  without  demolish- 
ing must  be  dealt  with  by  the  "moppers- 
up." 

The  two  lines  of  the  a6th  advanced  at  an 
190 


THE  26TH  "MOPS  UP' 


easy  walk;  there  was  about  five  yards  be- 
tween man  and  man.  Each  man  carried 
water  and  rations  for  forty-eight  hours  and 
five  empty  sandbags,  over  and  above  his 
arms  and  kit.  The  men  kept  their  align- 
ment all  the  way  up  to  the  edge  of  the  vil- 
lage. Now  and  again  they  closed  on  the 
center  or  extended  to  right  or  left  to  fill  a 
gap.  Wounded  men  crawled  into  shell 
holes  or  were  picked  up  and  carried  for- 
ward. Dead  men  lay  sprawled  beneath 
their  equipment,  with  their  rifles  and  bay- 
onets out  thrust  toward  Courcelette  even  in 
death.  The  "walking  wounded"  continued 
to  go  forward,  some  unconscious  or  unmind- 
ful of  their  injuries  and  others  trying  to 
bandage  themselves  as  they  walked. 

Col.  MacKenzie  led  them,  and  beside 
him  walked  a  company  commander.     The 
two  shouted  to  each  other  above  the  din  of 
191 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

battle,  and  sometimes  they  turned  and 
shouted  back  to  their  men.  Other  officers 
walked  a  few  paces  in  front  of  their  men. 

A  bursting  shell  threw  Dick  backward 
into  a  small  crater  that  had  been  made 
earlier  in  the  day  and  knocked  the  breath 
out  of  him  for  a  few  seconds.  Frank  Sac- 
obie  picked  him  up.  The  colonel  gave  the 
signal  to  double,  and  the  right  flank  of  the 
26th  broke  from  a  walk  into  a  slow  and 
heavy  jog.  Sacobie  jogged  beside  Dick. 

"Just  a  year  since  we  came  into  the 
line!"  shouted  Dick. 

"We  were  pa'tridge  shootin'  two  years 
ago  to-day!"  bawled  Sacobie. 

The  colonel  turned  with  his  back  to  Cour- 
celette  and  his  face  to  his  men  and  yelled 
at  them  to  come  on.  "Speed  up  on  the 
right!"  he  shouted.  "The  left  is  ahead. 
The  2^th  is  in  already.  Shake  a  leg,  boys. 
192 


THE  26TH  "MOPS  UP' 


If  they  don't  move  quick  enough  in  front, 
blow  right  through  'em." 

At  the  near  edge  of  the  village  a  number 
of  New  Brunswickers,  including  their  colo- 
nel, overtook  and  mingled  with  the  second 
line  of  the  22d.  Our  barrage  was  lifted 
clear  of  Courcelette  by  this  time  and  set 
like  a  spouting  wall  of  fire  and  earth  along 
the  far  side  of  it;  but  the  shells  of  the  enemy 
continued  to  pitch  into  it,  heaving  bricks 
and  rafters  and  the  soil  of  little  gardens  into 
the  vibrating  twilight.  Machine  guns 
streamed  their  fire  upon  the  invaders  from 
attics  and  cellars  and  sand-bagged  windows. 
The  bombs  and  rifles  of  the  aad  smashed 
and  cracked  just  ahead;  and  on  the  left, 
still  farther  ahead,  crashes  and  bangs  and 
shouts  told  all  who  could  hear  the  where- 
abouts of  Hilliam  and  his  lads  from  Nova 
Scotia. 

193 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

Dick  Starkley  saw  a  darting  flicker  of 
fire  from  the  butt  of  a  broken  chimney  be- 
yond a  cellar  full  of  bricks  and  splintered 
timber.  He  shouted  to  his  men,  let  his 
pistol  swing  from  its  lanyard  and  threw  a 
bomb.  Then,  stooping  low,  he  dashed  at 
the  jumble  of  ruins  in  the  cellar.  He  saw 
his  bomb  burst  beside  the  stump  of  chimney. 
The  machine  gun  flickered  again,  and 
spat-spat-spat  came  quicker  than  thought. 
Other  bombs  smashed  in  front  of  him,  to 
right  and  left  of  the  chimney.  He  got  his 
right  foot  entangled  in  what  had  once  been 
a  baby's  crib. 

There  he  was,  staggering  on  the  very 
summit  of  that  low  mound  of  rubbish, 
fairly  in  line  with  the  aim  of  the  machine 
gun.  Something  seized  him  by  some  part 
of  his  equipment  and  jerked  him  backward. 
He  lit  on  his  back  and  slid  a  yard,  then  be- 
194 


THE  26TH  "MOPS  UP" 


held  the  face  of  Hiram  Sill  staring  down  at 
him. 

"Hit?"  asked  Hiram. 

"Don't  think  so.     No." 

"It's  a  wonder." 

Five  men  from  Dick's  platoon  joined 
them  in  the  ruins.  Together  they  threw 
seven  grenades.  The  hidden  gun  ceased 
fire.  Dick  scrambled  up  and  over  the  rub- 
bish and  around  what  was  left  of  the  shat- 
tered chimney  that  masked  the  machine- 
gun  post.  In  the  dim  light  he  saw  sprawled 
shapes  and  crouching  shapes,  and  one 
stooped  over  the  machine  gun,  working 
swiftly  to  clear  it  again  for  action.  Dick 
pistoled  the  gunner.  The  three  survivors 
of  that  crew  put  up  their  hands.  Sergt. 
Sill  disarmed  them  and  told  them  to  "beat 
it"  back  to  the  Canadian  lines.  Fifty  yards 
on  they  found  Sacobie  and  two  privates 
195 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

counting  prisoners  at  the  mouth  of  a  dugout. 

"Twenty-nine  without  a  scratch,"  said 
Sacobie. 

"Find  stretchers  for  them  and  send  them 
back  with  our  wounded,  under  escort," 
said  Dick.  "Put  a  corporal  in  charge.  Is 
there  a  corporal  here?" 

"I'm  here,  sir." 

"You,  Judd?  Take  them  back  with  as 
many  of  our  wounded  as  they  can  carry. 
Two  men  with  you  should  be  escort  enough. 
Hand  over  the  wounded  and  fetch  up  any 
grenades  and  ammunition  you  can  get  hold 
of." 

Capt.  Smith  staggered  up  to  Dick. 

"We  are  through  and  out  the  other  side!" 
he  gasped.  "Get  as  many  of  our  fellows 
as  you  can  collect  quick  to  stiffen  this  flank. 
Dig  in  beyond  the  houses — in  line  with  the 
The  colonel  is  up  there  somewhere." 
196 


THE  26TH  "MOPS  UP' 


He  swayed  and  stumbled  against  the  pla- 
toon commander.  Dick  supported  him 
with  an  arm. 

"Hit?"  asked  Dick. 

"Just  what  you'd  notice,"  said  the  cap- 
tain, straightening  himself  and  reeling  away. 

"Go  after  him  and  do  what  you  can  for 
him,"  said  Dick  to  one  of  his  men.  "Band- 
age him  and  then  go  look  for  an  M.  O." 

'Dick  hurried  on  toward  the  forward  edge 
of  the  village,  strengthening  his  following 
as  he  went.  The  shelling  was  still  heavy 
and  the  noise  deafening,  but  the  hand-to- 
hand  fighting  among  the  houses  had  les- 
sened. Dick  led  his  men  through  one  wall 
of  a  house  that  had  been  hit  by  a  heavy  shell 
and  through  the  other  wall  into  a  little  gar- 
den. There  were  bricks  and  tiles  and  iron 
shards  in  that  garden;  and  in  the  middle 
of  it,  untouched,  a  little  arbor  of  grapevines. 
197 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

Dick  passed  through  the  arbor  on  his  way 
to  the  broken  wall  at  the  foot  of  the  garden. 
There  were  two  benches  in  it  and  a  small 
round  table. 

Dick  went  through  the  arbor  in  a  second, 
and  then  he  sprang  to  the  broken  crest  of 
the  wall.  He  had  scarcely  mounted  upon 
it  before  something  red  burst  close  in  front 
of  his  eyes. 


Dick  was  not  astonished  to  find  himself 
in  the  old  garden  at  Beaver  Dam.  The 
lilacs  were  in  flower  and  full  of  bees  and 
butterflies.  He  still  wore  his  shrapnel  hel- 
met. It  felt  very  uncomfortable,  and  he 
tried  to  take  it  off — but  it  stuck  fast  to  his 
head.  Even  that  did  not  astonish  him.  He 
saw  an  arbor  of  grapevines  and  entered  it 
and  sat  down  on  a  bench  with  his  elbows 
on  a  small  round  table.  He  recognized  it 
198 


THE  26TH  "MOPS  UP' 


as  the  arbor  he  had  seen  that  evening  in 

Courcelette — the  evening  of  September  15. 

"I    must    have    brought    it    home    with 

me,"    he    reflected.     "The    war    must    be 


over." 


Flora  entered  the  arbor  then  and  asked 
him  why  he  was  wearing  an  officer's  jacket. 
He  thought  it  queer  that  she  had  not  heard 
about  his  commission. 

"I  was  promoted  on  the  Somme — no,  it 
was  before  that,"  he  began,  and  then  every- 
thing became  dark.  "I  can't  see,"  he 
said. 

"Don't  worry  about  that,"  replied  a 
voice  that  was  not  Flora's.  "Your  eyes  are 
bandaged  for  the  time  being.  They'll  be 
as  well  as  ever  in  a  few  days." 

"I  must  have  been  dreaming.  Where  am 
I — and  what  is  wrong  with  me?" 

"You  are  in  No.  2  Canadian  General 
199 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

Hospital  .and  have  been  dreaming  for  al- 
most a  week.  But  you  are  doing  very 
well." 

"What  hit  me?  And  have  I  all  my  legs 
and  arms?" 

"It  must  have  been  a  whiz-bang,"  re- 
plied the  unknown  voice.  "You  are  suffer- 
ing from  head  wounds  that  are  not  so 
serious  as  we  feared  and  from  broken  ribs 
and  a  few  cuts  and  gashes.  You  must 
drink  this  and  stop  talking." 

Dick  obediently  drank  it,  whatever  it 
was. 

"I  wish  you  could  give  me  some  news 
of  the  battalion,  and  then  I'd  keep  quiet  for 
a  long  time,"  he  said. 

"Do  you  want  me  to  open  and  read  this 
letter  that  your  brother  left  for  you  two 
days  ago?"  asked  the  Sister. 

She  read  as  follows: 
200 


THE  26TH  "MOPS  UP' 


"Dear  Dick.  As  your  temperature  is  up 
and  you  refuse  to  know  me  I  am  leaving 
this  note  for  you  with  the  charming  Sister 
who  seems  to  be  your  C.  O.  just  now.  She 
tells  me  that  you  will  be  as  fit  as  a  fiddle  in 
a  month  or  so.  Accept  my  congratulations 
on  your  escape  and  on  the  battle  of  Cour- 
celette.  I  have  written  to  Beaver  Dam 
about  it  and  cabled  that  you  will  live  to 
fight  again.  Frank  Sacobie  and  that  psy- 
chological sergeant  with  a  D.  C.  M.  and 
bar  are  booked  for  Blighty,  to  polish  up 
for  their  commissions.  I  called  on  them 
after  the  fight.  They  are  well — but  I  can't 
say  that  they  escaped  without  a  scratch,  for 
they  both  looked  as  if  they  had  been  mixing 
it  up  with  a  bunch  of  wildcats.  Sacobie 
has  a  black  eye  and  doesn't  know  who  or 
what  hit  him. 

"Do  you  remember  Jim  Hammond?  He 
201 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

came  over  to  a  battalion  of  this  division  with 
a  draft  from  England  about  four  months 
ago.  He  looked  me  up  one  day  last  week 
and  told  me  a  mighty  queer  story  about 
himself.  I  won't  try  to  repeat  it,  for  I  am 
sure  he'll  tell  it  to  you  himself  at  the  first 
opportunity.  He  is  making  good,  as  far 
as  I  can  see  and  hear.  Pat  Hammond  has 
a  job  in  London  now.  He  was  badly  gassed 
about  a  month  ago.  I  will  get  another 
day's  special  leave  as  soon  as  possible  and 
pay  you  another  visit. 

"Your  affectionate  brother,  Henry  Stark- 
ley." 


202 


CHAPTER  IX 

FRANK  SACOBIE  OBJECTS 

WITHIN  ten  days  of  the  battle  of 
Courcelette,  Lieut.  Richard 
Starkley  was  able  to  see;  and 
twenty  days  after  that  he  was  able  to  walk. 
His  walking  at  first  was  an  extraordinary 
thing,  and  extraordinary  was  the  amount 
of  pleasure  that  he  derived  from  it.  With 
a  crutch  under  one  shoulder  and  Sister  Gil- 
bert under  the  other,  bandaged  and  padded 
from  hip  to  neck,  and  with  his  battered 
but  entire  legs  wavering  beneath  him,  he 
crossed  the  ward  that  first  day  without  ex- 
ceeding the  speed  limit.  Brother  officers 
in  various  stages  of  repair  did  not  refrain 
from  expressing  their  opinions  of  his  per- 
formance. 

203 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

"Try  to  be  back  for  tea,  old  son,"  said  a 
New  Zealand  major. 

"Are  those  your  legs  or  mine  you're  fox- 
trotting with?"  asked  an  English  subaltern; 
and  an  elderly  colonel  called,  "I'll  hop  out 
and  show  you  how  to  walk  in  a  minute,  if 
you  don't  do  better  than  that!" 

The  colonel  laughed,  and  the  inmates  of 
the  other  beds  laughed,  and  Dick  and 
Sister  Gilbert  laughed,  for  that,  you  must 
know,  was  a  very  good  joke.  The  humor 
of  the  remark  lay  in  the  fact  that  the  elderly 
colonel  had  not  a  leg  to  his  name. 

Day  by  day  Dick  improved  in  pace  and 
gait,  and  his  activities  inspired  a  number  of 
his  companions  to  shake  an  uncertain  leg 
or  two.  The  elderly  colonel  organized 
contests;  and  the  great  free-for-all  race 
twice  round  the  ward  was  one  of  the  not- 
able sporting  events  of  the  war. 
204 


FRANK  SACOBIE  OBJECTS 

At  last  Dick  was  shipped  to  Blighty  and 
admitted  to  a  hospital  for  convalescent 
Canadian  officers.  There  Capt.  J.  A. 
Starkley-Davenport  soon  found  him.  No 
change  that  the  eye  could  detect  had  taken 
place  in  Jack  Davenport.  His  face  was 
as  thin  and  colorless  as  when  Dick  had  first 
seen  it;  his  eyes  were  just  as  bright,  and 
their  glances  as  kindly  and  intent;  his  body 
was  as  frail  and  as  immaculately  garbed. 
Dick  wondered  how  one  so  frail  could 
exist  a  week  without  either  breaking  utterly 
or  gaining  in  strength. 

"You're  a  wonder,  Dick!"  exclaimed 
Davenport. 

"It  strikes  me  that  you  are  the  wonder," 
said  Dick. 

"But  they  tell  me  that  you  stopped   a 
whiz-bang  and  will  be  as  fit  as  ever,  nerve 
and  body,  in  a  little  while." 
205 


"I  stopped  bits  of  it — but  I  don't  think 
it  actually  detonated  on  me.  All  I  got  was 
some  of  the  splash.  I  was  lucky!" 

"You  were  indeed,"  said  the  other,  with 
a  shadow  in  his  eyes.  "I  was  lucky,  too— 
though  there  have  been  times  when  I  have 
been  fool  enough  to  wish  that  I  had  been 
left  on  the  field."  Then  he  straightened 
his  thin  shoulders  and  laughed  quietly. 
"But  if  I  had  gone  west  I  should  have 
missed  Frank  Sacobie  and  Hiram  Sill. 
They  lunched  with  me  last  week  and  have 
promised  to  turn  up  on  Sunday.  You'll  be 
right  for  Sunday,  Dick,  and  I'll  have  a 
pucka  party  in  your  honor." 

"How  are  they,  and  what  are  they  up  to?" 
asked  Dick. 

"They  are  at  the  top  of  their  form,  both 
of    them,    and    up    to    anything,"    replied 
Davenport.     "Your  Canadian  cadet  course 
206 


FRANK  SACOBIE  OBJECTS 

is  the  stiffest  thing  of  its  kind  in  England, 
but  it  doesn't  seem  to  bother  those  two. 
Frank  is  smarter  than  anything  the  Guards 
can  show  and  is  believed  to  be  a  rajah; 
and  Hiram  writes  letters  to  Washington 
urging  the  formation  of  an  American  divi- 
sion to  be  attached  to  the  Canadian  Corps 
and  suggesting  his  appointment  to  the  com- 
mand of  one  of  the  brigades." 

"Those  letters  must  amuse  the  censors," 
said  Dick  with  a  grin. 

"I  imagine  they  do.  Washington  hasn't 
answered  yet;  and  so  Hiram  is  getting  his 
dander  up  and  is  pitching  each  letter  a  little 
higher  than  the  one  before  it.  Incident- 
ally, he  has  a  great  deal  to  say  to  our  War 
Office,  and  his  novel  suggestions  for  devel- 
oping trench  warfare  seem  to  have  awak- 
ened a  variety  of  emotions  in  the  brains  and 
livers  of  a  lot  of  worthy  brass  hats." 
207 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

Dick  laughed.  "What  are  his  ideas  for 
developing  trench  warfare?" 

"One  is  the  organization  of  a  shot-gun 
platoon  in  every  battalion.  The  weapon  is 
to  be  the  duck  gun,  number  eight  bore,  I 
believe.  Hiram  maintains  that,  used 
within  a  range  of  one  hundred  and  fifty 
yards,  those  weapons  would  be  superior  to 
any  in  repulsing  attacks  in  mass  and  in 
cleaning  up  raided  trenches.  He  is  a  great 
believer  in  the  deadly  and  demoralizing 
effects  of  point-blank  fire." 

"He  is  right  in  that — once  you  get  rid  of 
the  parapet." 

"He  gets  rid  of  the  parapet  with  the 
point-blank  fire  of  what  he  calls  trench  can- 
non— guns,  three  feet  long,  mounted  so  that 
they  can  be  carried  along  a  trench  by 
four  men;  they  are  to  fire  ten-  or  twelve- 
pound  high  explosive  shells  from  the  front 
208 


FRANK  SACOBIE  OBJECTS 

line  smack  against  the  opposite  parapet." 

"It  sounds  right,  too;  but  so  many  things 
sound  right  that  work  all  wrong.  What 
are  his  other  schemes?" 

"One  has  to  do  with  a  thundering  big  six- 
hooked  grapnel,  with  a  wire  cable  attached, 
that  is  to  be  shot  into  the  hostile  lines  from 
a  big  trench  mortar  and  then  winched  back 
by  steam.  He  expects  his  grapnel — give 
him  power  enough — to  tear  out  trenches, 
machine-gun  posts  and  battalion  head- 
quarters, and  bring  home  all  sorts  of  odds 
and  ends  of  value  for  identification  pur- 
poses. Can't  you  see  the  brigadier  step- 
ping out  before  brekker  to  take  a  look  at 
the  night's  haul?" 

"My  hat!  What  did  the  War  Office 
think  of  that?" 

"An  acting  assistant  something  or  other 
of  the  name  of  Smythers  and  the  rank  of 
209 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

major  was  inspired  by  it  to  ask  Hiram 
whether  he  had  ever  served  in  France. 
Hiram  put  over  a  twenty-page  narrative 
of  his  exploits  with  the  battalion,  with  ap- 
pendixes of  maps  and  notes  and  extracts 
from  brigade  and  battalion  orders,  and,  so 
far  as  I  know,  the  major  has  not  yet  re- 
covered sufficiently  to  retaliate." 

"Well,  I  hope  Frank  Sacobie  has  left  the 
War  Office  alone." 

"Frank  writes  nothing  and  says  very 
little  more  than  that.  He  seems  to  give  all 
his  attention  to  his  kit;  but  I  have  a  sus- 
picion that  he  is  a  deep  thinker.  However 
that  may  be,  his  taste  in  dress  is  astonish- 
ingly good,  and  his  deportment  in  society 
is  in  as  good  taste  as  his  breeches." 

"So  he  has  a  good  time?" 

"He  is  very  gay  when  he  comes  up  to 
town,"  answered  Davenport. 
210 


FRANK  SACOBIE  OBJECTS 

"He  deserves  a  good  time,  but  he  can't 
get  it  and  at  the  same  time  doll  himself  up, 
even  in  uniform,  on  his  pay.  How  does 
he  do  it?" 

"You  have  guessed  it,  Dick." 

"I  think  I  have." 

"Then  there  is  no  need  of  my  saying  much 
about  it.  I  live  on  one  sixth  of  my  income. 
That  leaves  five  sixths  for  my  friends;  and 
often,  Dick,  it  is  the  thought  of  the  spend- 
ing of  the  five  parts  that  gives  me  courage 
to  go  on  keeping  life  in  this  useless  body 
with  the  one  part.  Sometimes  a  soldier's 
wife  buys  food  for  herself  and  children,  or 
pays  the  rent,  with  my  money;  and  the  lion's 
share  of  the  pleasure  of  that  transaction 
is  mine.  Sometimes  a  chap  on  leave  spends 
a  fistful  of  my  treasury  notes  on  dinners  for 
himself  and  his  girl;  and  those  dinners  give 
me  more  pleasure  than  the  ones  I  eat  my- 
211 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

self.  I  haven't  much  of  a  stomach  of  my 
own  now,  you  know;  and  I  haven't  a  girl 
of  my  own  to  take  out  to  one — even  if  Wil- 
son would  let  me  go  out  at  night.  It  is  not 
charity.  I  satisfy  my  own  lost  hunger  for 
food  through  the  medium  of  poor  people 
with  good  appetites:  I  have  my  fun  and 
cut  a  dash  in  new  breeches  and  swagger 
service  jackets  through  the  medium  of  hard 
fighting  fellows  from  France.  I  am  not 
apologizing,  you  understand." 

"You  needn't,"  said  Dick  dryly;  and  then 
they  both  laughed. 

Hiram  Sill  and  Frank  Sacobie  called  on 
Dick  at  the  hospital  soon  after  ten  o'clock 
on  Sunday  morning.  They  had  come  up 
to  town  the  evening  before.  The  greetings 
of  the  three  friends  were  warm.  Sacobie's 
pleasure  at  the  reunion  found  no  voice,  but 
shone  in  his  eyes  and  thrilled  in  the  grip  of 
212 


FRANK  SACQBIE  OBJECTS 

his  hand.  Hiram  Sill  added  words  to  the 
message  of  his  beaming  face.  He  expressed 
delighted  amazement  at  Dick's  appearance. 

"I  couldn't  quite  betaeve  it  until  now," 
he  said.  "Neither  could  you  if  you  had 
seen  yourself  as  we  saw  you  when  you  were 
picked  up.  Nothing  the  matter  with  your 
face,  except  a  dimple  or  two  that  you 
weren't  born  with.  All  your  legs  and  arms 
still  your  own.  I'd  sooner  see  this  than  a 
letter  from  Washington.  With  your  luck 
you'll  live  to  command  the  battalion." 

Dick  grinned.  His  greetings  to  his 
friends  had  been  as  boyishly  impulsive  and 
cheery  as  ever;  yet  there  was  something 
looking  out  through  the  affection  in  his  eyes 
that  would  have  puzzled  his  people  in  New 
Brunswick  if  they  had  seen  it.  There  was 
a  question  in  the  look  and  a  hint  of  anxiety 
and  perhaps  the  faintest  shade  of  the  airs 
213 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

of  a  fond  father,  a  sympathetic  judge  and 
a  hopeful  appraiser.  Frank  and  Hiram 
recognized  and  accepted  it  without  thought 
or  question.  The  look  was  nothing  more 
than  the  shadow  of  the  habit  of  responsibil- 
ity and  command. 

Hiram  talked  about  Washington  and  the 
War  Office,  and  discussed  his  grapnel  idea 
with  considerable  heat.  Frank  Sacobie 
took  no  part  in  that  discussion  and  little  in 
the  general  conversation.  Soon  after  twelve 
o'clock  all  three  set  out  in  a  taxicab  for 
Jack  Davenport's  house. 

The  luncheon  was  successful.  The  other 
guests  were  three  women — a  cousin  of 
Jack's  on  the  Davenport  side  and  her  two 
daughters.  The  host  and  Hiram  Sill  both 
conversed  brilliantly.  Frank  was  inspired 
to  make  at  least  five  separate  remarks  of 
some  half  dozen  words  each.  Dick  soon 
214 


FRANK  SACOBIE  OBJECTS 

let  the  drift  of  the  general  conversation 
escape  him,  so  interested  did  he  become  in 
the  girl  on  his  right. 

Kathleen  Kingston  seemed  to  him  a 
strange  mixture  of  shyness  and  self-posses- 
sion, of  calmness  and  vivacity.  The  color- 
ing of  her  small  face  was  wonderfully  mo- 
bile— so  Dick  expressed  it  to  himself — and 
yet  her  eyes  were  frank,  steady  and  unem- 
barrassed. Her  voice  was  curiously  low 
and  clear. 

Dick  was  conscious  of  feeling  a  vague 
and  unsteady  wonder  at  himself.  Why 
this  sudden  interest  in  a  girl?  He  had 
never  felt  anything  of  the  kind  before. 
Had  this  something  to  do  with  the  wounds 
in  his  head?  He  could  not  entertain  that 
suggestion  seriously.  However  that  might 
be,  he'  felt  that  his  sudden  interest  in  this 
young  person  whom  he  had  not  so  much 
215 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

as  heard  of  an  hour  ago  greatly  increased 
his  interest  in  many  things.  He  was  con- 
scious of  a  sure  friendship  for  her,  as  if  he 
had  known  her  for  years.  He  knew  that 
this  friendship  was  a  more  important  thing 
to  him  than  his  friendships  with  Hiram  Sill 
and  Frank  Sacobie — and  yet  those  friend- 
ships had  grown  day  by  day,  strengthened 
week  by  week  and  stood  the  test  of  suffer- 
ing and  peril. 

She  told  him  that  her  father  was  still  in 
France,  but  safe  now  at  General  Head- 
quarters, that  her  eldest  brother  had  been 
killed  in  action  in  1914,  that  another  was 
righting  in  the  East,  and  that  still  another 
was  a  midshipman  on  the  North  Sea. 
Also,  she  told  him  that  she  wanted  to  go 
to  France  as  a  V.  A.  D.,  that  she  had  left 
school  six  months  ago  and  was  working  five 
hours  every  day  making  bandages  and 
216 


FRANK  SACQBIE  OBJECTS 

splints,  and  that  she  was  seventeen  years 
old.  Those  confidences  melted  Dick's 
tongue.  He  told  her  his  own  age  and  that 
he  had  added  a  little  to  it  at  the  time  of 
enlisting;  he  spoke  of  night  and  daylight 
raids  and  major  offensive  operations  in 
which  he  had  taken  part,  of  the  military 
careers  of  Henry  and  Peter  and  of  life  at 
Beaver  Dam.  She  seemed  to  be  as  keenly 
interested  in  his  confidences  as  he  had  been 
in  hers.  In  the  library,  where  coffee  was 
served,  Dick  continued  to  cling  to  his  new 
friend. 

The  party  came  to  an  end  at  last,  leav- 
ing Dick  in  a  somewhat  scattered  state  of 
mind.  Before  leaving  with  her  daughters, 
Mrs.  Kingston  gave  her  address  and  a  cor- 
dial invitation  to  make  use  of  it  to  each  of 
the  three.  Before  long  Wilson  took  Jack 
off  to  bed.  Then  Hiram  left  to  keep  an  ap- 
217 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

pointment  at  the  Royal  Automobile  Club 
with  a  captain  who  knew  some  one  at  the 
War  Office.  That  left  Frank  and  Dick 
with  Jack  'Davenport's  library  to  them- 
selves. One  place  was  much  the  same  as 
another  to  Dick  just  then.  He  was  again 
wondering  if  he  could  possibly  be  suffering 
in  some  subtle  and  painless  way  from  the 
wounds  in  his  head.  With  enquiring  fin- 
gers he  felt  the  spotless  bandage  that  still 
adorned  the  top  of  his  head. 

Sacobie  got  out  of  his  chair  suddenly, 
with  an  abruptness  of  movement  that  was 
foreign  to  him,  and  walked  the  length  of 
the  room  and  back.  He  halted  before  Dick 
and  stared  down  at  him  keenly  for  several 
seconds  without  attracting  that  battered 
youth's  attention.  So  he  fell  again  to  pac- 
ing the  room,  walking  lightly  and  with 
straight  feet,  the  true  Indian  walk.  At 
218 


FRANK  SACOBIE  OBJECTS 

last  he  halted  again  in  front  of  Dick's 
chair. 

"I  am  not  going  back  to  the  battalion," 
he  said. 

Dick  sat  up  with  a  jerk  and  stared  at 
him. 

"I  am  not  going  back,"  repeated  Sacobie. 
"I  shall  get  my  commission,  that  is  sure; 
but  I  shall  not  be  an  officer  in  the  battal- 
ion." 

"Why  the  mischief  not?"  exclaimed 
Dick.  "What's  the  matter  with  the  bat- 
talion, I'd  like  to  know?" 

"Nothing,"  replied  the  other.  He  moved 
away  a  few  paces,  then  turned  back  again. 
"A  good  battalion.  I  was  a  good  sergeant 
there.  But  I  met  Capt.  Dodds,  on  leave, 
one  day,  and  we  had  lunch  together  at 
Scott's;  and  he  feel  pretty  good — he  felt 
pretty  good — and  he  talked  a  lot.  He  told 
219 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

me  how  some  officers  and  other  ranks  say 
the  colonel  didn't  do  right  when  he  put  in 
my  name  for  cadet  course  and  a  commis- 
sion. You  know  why,  Dick.  So  I  don't 
go  back  to  the  infantry  with  my  two  stars." 

"Do  you  mean  because  you  are  an  In- 
dian? That  is  rot!" 

"No,  it  is  good  sense.  You  think  about 
it  hard  as  I  have  thought  about  it  day  and 
night.  They  don't  say  I  don't  know  my 
job.  The  captain  told  me  the  colonel  was 
right  and  everybody  knew  it  when  he  said 
I  should  make  the  best  scout  officer  in  the 
brigade;  and  the  men  like  me,  you  know 
that;  but  the  men  don't  want  an  Injun  for 
an  officer.  They  are  white  men.  I  am  a 
Malecite — red.  That  is  right.  I  don't  go 
back  with  my  officer  stars." 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  won't  take  your 
commission?"  asked  Dick. 
220 


FRANK  SACOBIE  OBJECTS 

"No.  I  take  it,  sure.  But  not  in  the 
26th." 

Dick  did  not  argue.  He  had  never  con- 
sidered his  friend's  case  in  that  light  before, 
but  now  he  knew  that  Sacobie  was  right. 
The  noncommissioned  officers  and  men 
would  not  question  Frank's  military  quali- 
fications, his  ability  or  his  personal  merits. 
His  race  was  the  only  thing  about  him  to 
which  they  objected — and  that  appeared 
objectionable  in  him  only  when  they  con- 
sidered him  as  an  officer.  As  a  "non-com'1 
he  was  one  of  themselves,  but  as  an  officer 
they  must  consider  him  impersonally  as  a 
superior.  There  was  where  the  New 
Brunswick  soldiers  would  cease  to  consider 
their  friend  and  comrade  Frank  Sacobie 
and  see  only  a  member  of  an  inferior  race. 
Their  point  of  view  would  immediately 
revert  to  that  of  the  old  days  before  the  war, 
221 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

when  they  would  have  laughed  at  a  Male- 
cite's  undertaking  to  perform  any  task  ex- 
cept paddling  a  canoe. 

"Will  you  transfer  to  another  battalion?" 
asked  Dick,  as  a  result  of  his  reflections. 

Frank  shook  his  head  but  made  no  reply. 

"Then  to  an  English  battalion?"  Dick 
persisted.  "There  are  dozens  that  would 
be  glad  to  have  you,  Frank.  A  Canadian 
with  your  record  would  not  have  to  look 
far  for  a  job  in  this  war.  Jack  Daven- 
port's old  regiment  would  snap  you  up 
quick  as  a  wink,  commission  and  all,  I  bet 
a  dollar." 

The  other  smiled  gravely.  "That  is 
right,"  he  said.  "Capt.  Davenport  is  my 
friend  and  knows  what  I  am ;  but  most  Eng- 
lish people  want  me  to  be  some  kind  of 
prince  from  India.  I  am  myself — a  Cana- 
dian soldier.  I  don't  want  to  play  the 
222 


FRANK  SACOBIE  OBJECTS 

monkey.  Two-Blanket  Sacobie  was  a  big 
chief,  with  his  salmon  spear  and  sometimes 
nothing  to  eat.  His  squaw  chopped  the 
wood  and  carried  the  water.  I  am  not  a 
prince,  nor  I'm  not  a  monkey.  I  come  to 
the  war,  and  the  English  people  call  me 
rajah;  but  the  Englishman  come  to  our 
country  and  hire  me  for  a  guide  in  the 
woods  and  call  me  a  nigger.  No,  I  am 
myself  with  what  good  I  have  in  me.  I 
can  do  to  fight  the  Germans,  and  that  is  all 
I  want,  Dick.  I  try  to  be  a  gentleman,  like 
Peter  and  Capt.  Davenport,  and  the  King 
will  make  me  an  officer.  That  is  good. 
I  will  join  the  Royal  Flying  Corps.  Then 
they  will  name  me  for  what  I  am  by  what 
I  do." 

Dick  gripped  Frank's  right  hand  in  a 
hearty  clasp  of  respect  and  admiration. 

"You're  a  brick!"  he  said.  "Jack  was 
223 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

right  when  he  said  you  were  a  deep  thinker." 
"I  got  to  think  deep — deeper  than  you," 
said  Frank.     "I  got  to  think  all  for  myself, 
because  my  fathers  didn't  think  at  all." 


224 


CHAPTER  X 

DICK  OBLIGES  HIS  FRIEND 

BOTH  .Hiram  Sill  and  Frank  Sacobie 
completed  the  cadet  course  and 
passed  the  final  examinations. 
After  one  last  fling  at  Washington  and  one 
more  astounding  suggestion  to  the  War 
Office,  Mr.  Sill  went  back  to  France  and 
his  battalion  and  took  command  of  a  pla- 
toon. Mr.  Sacobie  transferred,  with  his 
new  rank,  to  the  Royal  Flying  Corps  and 
immediately  began  another  course  of  in- 
struction. His  brother  officers  decided 
that  he  was  of  a  family  of  Italian  origin. 
He  did  not  bother  his  head  about  what  they 
thought  and  applied  himself  with  fervor 
to  mastering  the  science  of  flying. 

Dick  recovered  his  strength  steadily.    He 
saw  Davenport  frequently  and  the  Kings- 
225 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

tons  still  more  frequently.  His  friendship 
with  the  Kingstons — particularly  with 
Kathleen — deepened  without  a  check.  No 
two  days  ever  went  by  consecutively  with- 
out his  seeing  one  or  another  of  that  family 
— usually  one. 

On  a  certain  Tuesday  morning  near  the 
end  of  November  he  left  the  hospital  at  ten 
o'clock  in  high  spirits.  He  ha*d  that  morn- 
ing discarded  his  last  crutch  and  now  moved 
along  with  the  help  of  two  big  sticks.  The 
dressing  on  his  head  was  reduced  to  one 
thin  strip  of  linen  bound  smoothly  round 
just  above  the  line  of  his  eyebrows.  It 
showed  beneath  his  cap  and  gave  him 
somewhat  the  air  of  a  cheerful  brigand. 
Though  his  left  foot  came  into  contact  with 
the  pavement  very  gingerly,  he  twirled  one 
of  the  heavy  sticks  airily  every  now  and 
again. 

226 


DICK  OBLIGES  HIS  FRIEND 

Dick  found  Jack  Davenport  in  the  li- 
brary. A  woman  and  two  little  girls  were 
leaving  the  library  as  he  entered.  The 
woman  was  poorly  dressed,  and  her  eye- 
lids were  red  from  recent  tears — but  now 
a  look  of  relief,  almost  of  joy,  shone  in  her 
eyes.  She  turned  on  the  threshold. 

"Bill  will  have  more  heart  now,  sir,  for 
the  righting  of  his  troubles  and  miseries  over 
there,"  she  said.  "If  I  were  to  stand  and 
talk  an  hour,  sir,  I  couldn't  tell  you  what's 
in  my  heart — but  I  say  again,  God  bless 
you  for  your  great  kindness!" 

She  turned  again  then  and  passed  Dick, 
and  the  butler  opened  the  big  door  and 
bowed  her  out  of  the  house  with  an  air  of 
cheery  good  will. 

Capt.  Starkley-Davenport  sat  with  his 
crutch  and  stick  leaning  against  the  table. 
On  the  cloth  within  easy  reach  his  check 
227 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

book  lay  open  before  him.  He  was  dressed 
with  his  usual  completeness  of  detail  and 
studied  simplicity. 

"Have  you  been  boarded  yet?"  asked 
Jack. 

"To-morrow,"  replied  Dick.  "All  the 
M.  O.'s  are  friends  of  mine,  so  I  expect 
to  wangle  back  to  my  battalion  in  two 
weeks." 

Jack  smiled  and  shook  his  head.  "Your 
best  friend  in  the  world — or  the  maddest 
doctor  in  the  army — wouldn't  send  you 
back  to  France  on  one  leg,  old  son.  Six 
weeks  is  nearer  the  mark." 

"I  can  make  it  in  two.     You  watch  me." 

"And  is  it  still  your  old  battalion,  Dick? 
I  have  refrained  from  worrying  you  about 
it  this  time,  because  you  deserved  a  rest- 
but  I'm  keener  than  ever  to  see  you  in  my 
old  outfit;  and  your  third  pip  is  there  for 
228 


DICK  OBLIGES  HIS  FRIEND 

you  to  put  up  on  the  very  day  of  your 
transfer." 

"I've  been  thinking  about  it,  Jack — and 
of  course  I'd  like  to  do  it  because  you  want 
me  to.  But  the  colonel  wouldn't  under- 
stand. No  one  who  does  not  know  you 
would  understand.  People  would  think  I'd 
done  it  for  the  step,  or  that  I  hadn't  hit  it 
off,  as  an  officer,  with  the  old  crowd.  I 
want  to  stay,  and  yet  I  want  to  go.  I  want 
to  fight  on,  as  far  as  my  luck  will  take  me, 
with  the  z6th,  and  yet  I'd  be  proud  as  a 
brigadier  to  sport  three  pips  with  your  lot. 
As  for  doing  something  that  you  want  me 
to  do — why,  to  be  quite  frank  with  you, 
there  isn't  another  man  in  the  world  I'd 
sooner  please  than  you.  Give  me  a  few 
months  more  in  which  to  decide.  Give  me 
until  my  next  leave  from  France." 

Dick  had  become  embarrassed  toward  the 
229 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

end  of  his  speech,  and  now  he  looked  at 
Davenport  with  a  red  face.  The  other  re- 
turned the  glance  with  a  flush  on  his  thin 
cheeks. 

"Bless  you,  Dick,"  he  said  and  looked 
away.  "Your  next  leave  from  France,"  he 
continued.  "Six  or  seven  months  from 
now,  with  luck.  They  don't  give  me 
much  more  than  that."  Dick  stared  at  his 
friend. 

"I  had  to  send  for  an  M.  O.  early  this 
morning,"  Jack  went  on  in  a  level  voice. 
"Wilson  did  it;  he  heard  me  fussing  about. 
By  seven  o'clock  there  were  three  of  the 
wisest  looking  me  over — all  three  familiar 
with  my  case  ever  since  I  got  out  of  hospital. 
They  can't  do  anything,  for  everything  that 
could  be  removed — German  metal — was 
dug  out  long  ago.  A  few  odds  and  ends 
remain,  here  and  there — and  one  or  another 
230 


DICK  OBLIGES  HIS  FRIEND 

of  those  is  bound  to  get  me  within  ten 
or  twelve  months.  So  it  will  read 
in  the  Times  as  'Died  of  wounds,'  after 
all." 

Dick's  face  turned  white.  "Are  you 
joking?"  he  asked. 

"Not  I,  old  son,"  said  the  captain,  smil- 
ing. "I  have  a  sense  of  humor — but  it 
doesn't  run  quite  to  that." 

"And  here  you  are  all  dolled  up  in  white 
spats!  Jack,  you  have  a  giant's  heart! 
And  worrying  about  me  and  your  regiment! 
Jack,  I'll  do  it!  I'll  transfer.  I'll  put  in 
my  application  to-day." 

"No.  I  like  your  suggestion  better. 
Wait  till  your  next  leave  from  France.  I 
have  taken  a  fancy  to  that  idea.  You'll 
come  home  in  six  or  seven  months,  and  you'll 
ask  me  to  let  you  put  off  your  decision  un- 
til you  return  again.  Of  course  I  shall 
231 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

have  to  say  yes — and,  since  I  am  deter- 
mined to  see  the  Essex  badges  on  you,  I'll 
wait  another  six  or  seven  months.  I  am 
stubborn.  Between  your  indecision  and  my 
stubbornness,  the  chances  are  that  I'll  fool 
the  doctors.  That  would  be  a  joke,  if  you 
like!" 

Dick  hobbled  round  the  table  and  grasped 
Jack's  hand. 

"Done!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  am  with  you, 
Jack.  We'll  play  that  game  for  all  it  is 
worth.  But  you  didn't  seriously  believe 
what  the  doctors  said,  did  you?" 

"Yes,  until  five  minutes  ago." 

"Two  years  ago  they  said  you  would  be 
right  as  wheat  in  six  months ;  and  now  they 
say  you  will  be  dead  in  a  year.  If  they 
think  they're  prophets — they  are  clean  off 
their  job.  Would  they  bet  money  on  it? 
I  don't  think!  One  year!  Fifty  years 
232 


DICK  OBLIGES  HIS  FRIEND 

would  have  sounded  almost  as  knowing  and 
a  good  sight  more  likely." 

Dick  stayed  to  luncheon,  and  he  re- 
mained at  the  table  after  Wilson  had  taken 
Jack  away  to  lie  down.  Wilson  came  back 
within  fifteen  minutes  and  found  the 
Canadian  subaltern  where  he  had  left 
him. 

"Sir,  I  am  anxious  about  Capt.  Jack,"  he 
said. 

"Why  do  you  say  that?"  asked  Dick. 

"Sir  Peter  Bayle  and  two  other  medical 
gentlemen  of  the  highest  standing  warned 
him  this  very  morning,  sir,  that  he  was  only 
one  year  more  for  this  wor!4 ;  and  now  he 
is  singing,  sir, — a  thing  he  has  not  done  in 
months, — and  a  song  which  runs,  sir,  with 
your  permission,  'All  the  boys  and  girls  I 
chance  to  meet  say,  Who's  that  coming 
down  the  street?  Why,  it's  Milly;  she's  a 
233 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

daisy' — and  so  on,  sir.  I  fear  his  wounds 
have  affected  his  mind,  sir." 

"Wilson,  I  know  that  song  and  approve 
of  it,"  said  Dick.  "If  Sir  Peter  Bayle  told 
you,  in  November,  1916,  that  you  were  to 
die  in  November,  1917,  of  wounds  received 
in  1914,  should  you  worry?  Nix  to  that! 
You  would  seriously  suspect  that  Sir  Peter 
had  his  diagnosis  of  your  case  mixed  up  in 
his  high-priced  noddle  with  Buchan's  His- 
tory of  the  War;  and  if  you  are  the  man  I 
think  you  are,  you,  too,  would  sing." 

"I  thank  you,  Mr.  Richard.  You  fill 
my  heart  with  courage,  sir,"  said  Wil- 
son. 

Dick  reached  the  Kingston  house  at  four 
o'clock  and  was  shown  as  usual  into  the 
drawing-room.  The  ladies  were  not  there, 
but  an  officer  whom  Dick  had  never  seen 
before  stood  on  the  hearthrug  with  his  back 
234 


DICK  OBLIGES  HIS  FRIEND 

to  the  fire.  He  wore  the  crown  and  star 
of  a  lieutenant  colonel  on  his  shoulders,  a 
wound  stripe  on  his  left  sleeve,  the  red  tabs 
of  the  general  staff  on  his  collar,  on  his 
right  breast  the  blue  ribbon  of  the  Royal 
Humane  Society's  medal  and  on  his  left 
breast  the  ribbons  of  the  D.  S.  O.,  of  the 
Queen's  and  the  King's  South  African 
medals,  of  several  Indian  medals  and  of 
the  Legion  of  Honor.  His  figure  was 
slight  and  of  little  more  than  the  medium 
height.  A  monocle  without  a  cord  shone 
in  his  right  eye,  and  his  air  was  amiable 
and  alert.  Dick  halted  on  his  two  sticks 
and  said,  "I  beg  your  pardon,  sir." 

The  other  flashed  a  smile,  advanced 
quickly  and  in  two  motions  put  Dick  into 
a  deep  chair  and  took  possession  of  the 
sticks.  Then  he  shook  the  visitor's  hand 
heartily. 

235 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

"Glad  to  see  you,"  he  said.  "There  is 
no  mistaking  you.  You  are  Kathleen's 
Canadian  subaltern.  I  am  Kathleen's 
father." 

Dick  knew  that  there  were  plenty  of 
suitable  things  to  say  in  reply,  but  for  the 
life  of  him  he  could  not  think  of  one  of 
them.  So  he  said  nothing,  but  returned 
the  colonel's  smile. 

"Don't  be  bashful,  Dick,"  continued  the 
other.  "I  was  a  boy  myself  not  so  long  ago 
as  you  think — but  I  hadn't  seen  a  shot  fired 
in  anger  when  I  was  your  age.  It's  amaz- 
ing. I  wonder  what  weight  of  metal  has 
gone  over  your  head,  not  to  mention  what 
has  hit  you  and  fallen  short.  Tons  and 
tons,  I  suppose.  It's  an  astounding  war,  to 
my  mind.  Don't  you  find  it  so?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  Dick. 

"And  you  are  right,"  continued  the  other. 
236 


DICK  OBLIGES  HIS  FRIEND 

"I  wish  I  were  your  age,  so  as  to  see  it  more 
clearly.  Stupendous!" 

At  that  moment  Mrs.  Kingston  and  the 
two  girls  entered.  It  had  been  Dick's  and 
Kathleen's  intention  to  go  out  to  tea;  but 
the  colonel  upset  that  plan  by  saying  that 
he  was  very  anxious  to  hear  Dick  talk.  So 
they  remained  at  home  for  tea — and  the 
colonel  did  all  the  talking.  Dick  agreed 
with  everything  he  said  about  the  war,  how- 
ever, and  then  he  said  that  Dick  was  right 
—so  it  really  made  no  difference  after 
all  which  of  them  actually  said  the 
things. 

During  the  ten  days  of  the  colonel's 
leave  he  and  Dick  became  firm  friends. 
They  knocked  about  town  together  every 
morning,  often  lunched  with  Jack  Daven- 
port and  every  afternoon  and  evening  took 
Mrs.  Kingston  and  the  girls  out.  Dick 
237 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

dined  at  home  with  the  family  on  the  colo- 
nel's last  night  of  leave.  After  dinner, 
when  the  others  left  the  table,  the  colonel 
detained  Dick  with  a  wink. 

"I  won't  keep  you  from  Kathleen  ten 
minutes,  my  boy,"  he  said.  "I  want  to  tell 
you,  in  case  I  don't  see  you  again  for  a  long 
time, — meetings  between  soldiers  are  un- 
certain things,  Dick, — that  this  little  affair 
between  you  and  my  daughter  has  done  me 
good  to  see.  You  are  both  babies,  so  don't 
take  it  too  seriously.  Take  it  happily. 
Whatever  may  happen  in  the  future,  you 
two  children  will  have  something  very 
beautiful  and  romantic  and  innocent  to  look 
back  at  in  this  war.  Though  you  should 
live  to  be  ninety  and  marry  a  girl  from  As- 
siniboia,  yet  you  will  always  remember  this 
old  town  with  pleasure.  If,  on  the  other 
hand,  you  should  continue  in  your  present 
238 


DICK  OBLIGES  HIS  FRIEND 

vein — that  is,  continue  to  feel  like  this  after 
you  grow  up — that  it  is  absolutely  necessary 
to  your  happiness  to  have  tea  with  my 
daughter  every  day — well,  good  luck  to 
you!  I  can't  say  more  than  that,  my  boy. 
But  in  the  meantime,  be  happy." 

Then  he  shook  Dick  vigorously  by  the 
hand,  patted  his  shoulder  and  pushed  him 
out  of  the  room. 

Dick  handled  the  medical  officers  so  ably 
that  he  and  his  transportation  were  ready 
for  France  on  New  Year's  Day.  The 
Kingstons  saw  him  off.  He  found  a  seat 
in  a  first-class  compartment  and  deposited 
his  haversack  in  it.  Then  the  four  stood 
on  the  platform  and  tried  in  vain  to  think 
of  something  to  say.  Even  Mrs.  Kings- 
ton was  silent.  Officers  of  all  ranks  of 
every  branch  of  the  service,  with  their 
friends  and  relatives,  crowded  the  long 
239 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

platform.  Late  arrivals  bundled  in  and 
out  of  the  carriages,  looking  for  unclaimed 
seats.  Guards  looked  at  their  bi-g  silver 
watches  and  requested  the  gentlemen  to  take 
their  seats.  Then  Mrs.  Kingston  kissed 
Dick;  then  Mary  kissed  him;  and  then, 
lifted  to  a  state  of  recklessness,  he  kissed 
Kathleen  on  her  trembling  lips.  He  saw 
tears  quivering  in  her  eyes. 

"When  I  come  back — next  leave — will  it 
be  the  same?"  he  asked. 

She  bowed  her  head,  and  the  tears  spilled 
over  and  glistened  on  her  cheeks.  Stand- 
ing in  the  doorway  of  the  compartment, 
Dick  saluted,  then  turned,  trod  on  the  toes 
of  a  sapper  major,  moved  heavily  from 
there  to  the  spurred  boots  of  an  artillery 
colonel  and  sat  down  violently  and  blindly 
on  his  lumpy  haversack.  The  five  other 
occupants  of  the  compartment  glanced 
240 


STANDING   IN   THE   DOORWAY   OF   THE   COMPARTMENT, 
DICK    SALUTED/' 


DICK  OBLIGES  HIS  FRIEND 

from  Dick  to  the  group  on  the  plat- 
form. 

"We  all  know  it's  a  rotten  war,  old  son," 
said  the  gunner  colonel  and,  stooping,  rub- 
bed the  toes  of  his  outraged  boots  with  his 
gloves. 

'Dick  found  many  old  faces  replaced  by 
new  in  the  battalion.  Enemy  snipers,  shell 
fire,  sickness  and  promotion  had  been  at 
work.  Dick  acted  as  assistant  adjutant  for 
a  couple  of  weeks  and  was  then  posted  to 
a  company  as  second  in  command  and 
promised  his  step  in  rank  at  the  earliest 
opportunity.  In  the  same  company  was 
Lieut.  Hiram  Sill's  platoon.  Hiram,  busy 
as  ever,  had  distinguished  himself  several 
times  since  his  return  and  was  in  a  fair 
way  to  be  recommended  for  a  Military 
Cross. 

The  commander  of  the  company  was  a 
241 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

middle-aged,  amiable  person  who  had  been 
worked  so  hard  during  the  past  year  that  he 
had  nothing  left  to  carry  on  with  except 
courage.  At  sight  of  Dick  he  rejoiced,  for 
Dick  had  a  big  reputation.  He  took  off 
his  boots  and  belt,  retired  to  his  blankets  and 
told  his  batman  to  wake  him  when  the  war 
was  over.  The  relief  was  too  much  for 
him;  it  had  come  too  late.  The  more  he 
rested  the  worse  he  felt,  and  at  last  the 
medical  officer  sent  him  out  on  a  stretcher. 
Fever  and  a  general  breakdown  held  him 
at  the  base  for  several  weeks,  and  then  he 
was  shipped  to  Blighty.  So  Dick  got 
a  company  and  his  third  star,  and  no 
one  begrudged  him  the  one  or  the 
other. 

The  Canadian  Corps  worked  all  winter 
in  preparation   for  its  great  spring  task. 
The  Germans  fortified  and  intrenched  and 
242 


DICK  OBLIGES  HIS  FRIEND 

mightily  garrisoned  along  all  the  great 
ridge  of  Vimy,  harrassed  the  preparing 
legions  with  shells  and  bombs  and  looked 
contemptuously  out  and  down  upon  us  from 
their  strong  vantage  points.  Others  had 
failed  to  wrest  Vimy  from  them.  But 
night  and  day  the  Canadians  went  on  with 
their  preparations. 

Word  that  the  United  States  of  America 
had  declared  war  on  Germany  reached  the 
toilers  before  Vimy  on  April  7;  and  within 
the  week  there  came  a  night  of  gunfire  that 
rocked  the  earth  and  tore  the  air.  With 
morning  the  gunfire  ceased,  only  to  break 
forth  again  in  lesser  volume  as  the  jumping 
barrages  were  laid  along  the  ridge;  and 
then,  in  a  storm  of  wind  and  snow,  the  bat- 
talions went  over  on  a  five-division  front, 
company  after  company,  wave  after  wave, 
riflemen,  bombers  and  Lewis  gunners.  The 
243 


Canadians  were  striking  after  their  winter 
of  drudgery. 

One  of  our  men,  a  Yankee  by  birth,  went 
over  that  morning  with  a  miniature  Stars 
and  Stripes  tied  to  his  bayonet.  We 
cleared  out  the  Huns  and  took  the  ridge; 
and  for  days  the  water  that  filled  the  shell 
holes  and  mine  craters  over  that  ground 
was  red  with  Canadian  blood,  and  the  plank 
roads  were  slippery  with  it  from  the  pass- 
ing of  our  wounded. 

Dick  went  through  that  fight  in  front  of 
his  company  and  came  out  of  it  speechless 
with  exhaustion,  but  unhit.  Hiram  Sill 
survived  it  with  his  arm  in  a  sling.  Maj. 
Henry  Starkley  was  wounded  again,  again 
not  seriously.  Maj.  Patrick  Hammond  was 
killed,  and  Corp.  Jim  Hammond  was  car- 
ried back  the  next  day  with  a  torn  scalp  and 
a  crushed  knee. 

244 


DICK  OBLIGES  HIS  FRIEND 

On  the  tenth  day  after  that  battle  Lieut. 
Hiram  Sill  and  his  company  commander 
were  the  recipients  of  extraordinary  news. 
Mr.  Sill  was  requested  to  visit  the  colonel 
without  loss  of  time.  He  turned  up  with- 
in the  minute  and  saluted  with  his  left 
hand. 

"You  are  wanted  back  in  the  U.  S.  A., 
Hiram,  for  instructional  purposes,"  said  the 
colonel,  looking  over  a  mess  of  papers  at  his 
elbow.  "You  don't  have  to  go  if  you  don't 
want  to.  Here  it  is — and  to  be  made  out 
in  triplicate,  of  course." 

Hiram  examined  the  papers. 

"And  here  is  something  else  that  will  in- 
terest you,"  continued  the  colonel.  "News 
for  you  and  Dick  Starkley.  You  have  your 
TVL  C." 

Hiram's  eyes  shone. 

"And  Dick  seems  to  have  hooked  the 
245 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

same  for  his  work  on  the  Somme — and  I 
had  given  up  all  hope  of  that  coming 
through.  I  recommended  him  for  a  D.  S. 
O.  last  week.  The  .way  these  recommenda- 
tions for  awards  are  handled  beats  me. 
They  put  them  all  into  a  hat  and  then 
chuck  the  hat  out  of  the  window,  I  guess, 
and  whatever  recommendations  are  picked 
up  in  the  street  and  returned  through  the 
post  are. approved  and  acted  upon.  I  know 
a  chap — come  back  here!" 

Hiram  turned  at  the  door  of  the  hut. 

"Do  you  intend  to  accept  that  job?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"You  have  a  choice  between  going  over 
to  the  American  army  with  your  rank  or 
simply  being  seconded  from  the  Cana- 
dians for  that  duty.  What  do  you  mean 
to  do?" 

"Seconded,  sir.  I  am  an  American  citi- 
246 


DICK  OBLIGES  HIS  FRIEND 

zen  clear  through,  colonel,  but  I  have  worn 
this  cut  of  uniform  too  long  to  change  it  in 
this  war." 

Hiram  found  Dick  in  his  billet,  reading 
a  letter.  Dick  received  the  news  of  the 
awards  and  of  Hiram's  appointment  very 
quietly. 

"Jack  Davenport  has  gone  west,"  he  said. 

Hiram  sat  down  and  stared  at  Dick  with- 
out a  word. 

"This  letter  is  from  Kathleen,"  continued 
Dick.  "She  says  Jack  went  out  on  Mon- 
day to  visit  some  of  the  people  he  helps. 
He  had  taken  on  six  more  widows  and  seven 
more  babies  since  the  Vimy  show.  On  his 
way  home  towaid  evening  he  and  Wilson 
were  outside  the  Blackfriars  underground 
station,  looking  for  a  taxi,  when  a  lorry  took 
a  skid  fair  at  an  old  woman  and  little  boy 
who  were  just  making  the  curb.  Wilson 
247 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

swears  that  Jack  jumped  from  the  curb  as 
if  there  were  nothing  wrong  with  him, 
landed  fair  in  front  of  the  lorry,  knocked 
the  old  woman  and  kid  out  from  under,  but 
fell  before  he  could  get  clear  himself." 

"Killed?" 

"Instantly." 

Hiram  gazed  down  at  his  muddy  boots, 
and  Dick  continued  to  regard  the  letter  in 
his  hand. 

"Can  you  beat  it?"  said  Hiram  at  last. 

Dick  got  up  and  paced  about  the  little 
room,  busy  with  his  thoughts.  Finally  he 
spoke. 

"Sacobie  is  flying,  and  you  are  booked  for 
the  States,  and  I  am  going  to  transfer  to 
Jack's  old  lot,"  he  said  slowly. 

Hiram  looked  up  at  him,  but  did  not 
speak. 

"Jack  wanted  me  to,"  continued  Dick. 
248 


DICK  OBLIGES  HIS  FRIEND 

'Well,  why  not?  It's  the  same  old  army 
and  the  same  old  war.  A  fellow  should 
make  an  effort  to  oblige  a  man  like  Jack- 
dead  or  alive."  He  was  silent  for  several 
seconds,  then  went  on:  "Henry  has  been 
offered  a  staff  job  in  London.  Peter  is  safe. 
Sacobie  has  brought  down  four  Boche 
machines  already.  What  have  you  heard 
about  Jim  Hammond?" 

"It's  Blighty  for  him — and  then  Canada. 
He'll  never  in  the  world  bend  that  leg 
again." 

For  a  while  Dick  continued  to  pace  back 
and  forth  across  the  muddy  floor  in  silence. 

"  We  are  scattering,  Old  Psychology,"  he 
said.  "This  war  is  a  great  scatterer — but 
there  are  some  things  it  can't  touch.  You'll 
be  homesick  at  your  new  job,  Hiram, — and 
I'll  be  homesick  with  the  Essex  bunch,  I 
suppose, — but  there  are  some  things  that 
249 


THE  FIGHTING  STARKLEYS 

make  it  all  seem  worth  the  rotten  misery  of 
it."  He  glanced  down  at  Kathleen's  letter, 
then  put  it  into  his  pocket.  "Jack  Daven- 
port, for  one,"  he  ended. 

"A  soldier  and  a  gentlemen,"  said  Hiram. 

THE  END 


250 


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THE  BOYS'  STORY  OF  THE 
RAILROAD  SERIES 

By  BURTON  E.  STEVENSON 

Each  large  12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated, 
per  volume $1.75 

THE   YOUNG   SECTION-HAND;     OR,  THE  AD- 

VENTURES    OF    ALLEN    WEST. 

"  The  whole  range  of  section  railroading  is  covered  in 
the  story."  —  Chicago  Post. 

THE  YOUNG  TRAIN  DISPATCHER 

"A  vivacious  account  of  the  varied  and  often  hazard- 
ous nature  of  railroad  life."  —  Congregationalist. 

THE  YOUNG  TRAIN  MASTER 

"  It  is  a  book  that  can  be  unreservedly  commended  to 
anyone  who  loves  a  good,  wholesome,  thrilling,  informing 
yarn."  —  Passaic  News. 

THE   YOUNG    APPRENTICE;     OR,  ALLAN  WEST'S 
CHUM. 
"  The  story  is  intensely  interesting."  —  Baltimore  Sun. 


BOY  SCOUT  STORIES 

By  BREWER  CORCORAN 

Published  with  the  approval  of  "  The  Boy  Scoutt  of 
America." 

Each,  one  volume,  12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illus- 
trated, per  volume $1.75 

IHE  BOY  SCOUTS  OF  KENDALLVILLE 

The  story  of  a  bright  young  factory  worker  who  can- 
not enlist  because  he  has  three  dependents,  but  his 
knowledge  of  woodcraft  and  wig-wagging,  gained  through 
Scout  practice,  enables  him  to  foil  a  German  plot  to  blow 
up  the  munitions  factory. 

THE  BOY  SCOUTS  OF  THE  WOLF  PATROL 

The  boys  of  Gillfield  who  were  not  old  enough  to  go 
to  war  found  just  as  many  thrills  at  home,  chasing  a 
German  spy. 
A  — 8 


BOOKS  FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE 


THE  CARITA  SERIES 

By  LUCY  M.  BLANCHABD 

Each,  one  volume,  cloth  decorative,  12mot  illus- 
trated         $1.65 

CARITA,  AND  HOW  SHE  BECAME  A  PATRI- 
OTIC AMERICAN 

"  One  of  the  strongest  points  of  the  book  is  the  fact 
that  its  characters  seem  to  be  real  people,  doing  the 
things  that  real  people  do.  More  than  that,  they  are 
wholesome,  worth-while  folks  whose  companionship  in- 
spires a  sane  and  pleasing  view  of  life."  —  Salt  Lake 
Tribune,  Salt  Lake  City. 

CARITA'S  NEW  WORLD 

"Wholesome  and  altogether  fascinating;  all  this  can 
be  truly  said  of  all  of  Miss  Blanchard's  stories  for  girls. 
'  Carita's  New  World '  has  both  of  these  characteristics." 
—  Troy  Record,  Troy,  N.  Y. 

"  There  is  a  fine  originality  about  Carita  that  will  make 
her  adorable  to  all  girls."  —  Oakland  Tribune. 


THE  MERRYMAKERS  SERIES 

By  HEKSCHEL  WILLIAMS 
Each,  one  volume,  12mo,  illustrated          .         .     $1.65 

THE  MERRYMAKERS  IN  NEW  YORK 

"  The  book  is  bright  and  clever  and  gives  an  excellent 
picture  of  our  great  metropolis.  One  can  in  his  imagina- 
tion see  New  York  most  entertainingly  through  the  eyes 
of  the  young  Merrymakers."  —  St.  Andrew's  Cross,  Phila- 
delphia. 

THE  MERRYMAKERS  IN  CHICAGO 

The  Merrymakers  who  had  such  a  splendid  Christmas 
vacation  in  New  York,  enjoy  another  rollicking  good 
time,  —  a  summer  vacation  in  Chicago.  While  brother 
Ned.  the  young  newspaper  reporter,  "  covers  "  the  Re- 
publican national  convention  in  Chicago,  Carl,  the  oldest 
of  the  four  sightseeing  Merrymakers,  decides  that  he 
wants  to  own  a  department  store  some  day,  and  inciden- 
tally learns  all  the  steps  he  must  take  from  being  an 
errand  boy  to  a  merchant  magnate. 
A  — 9 


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IDEAL  BOOKS  FOR  GIRLS 

Each,  one  volume,  cloth  decorative,  12mo,       .     $1.10 

A  LITTLE  CANDY  BOOK  FOR  A  LITTLE  GIRL 

By  AMY  L.  WATERMAN. 

"  This  is  a  peculiarly  interesting  little  book,  written  in 
the  simple,  vivacious  style  that  makes  these  little  manuals 
as  delightful  to  read  as  they  are  instructive."  —  Nash- 
ville Tennessean  and  American. 

A  LITTLE  COOK-BOOK  FOR  A  LITTLE  GIRL 

By  CAROLINE  FRENCH  BENTON. 

This  book  explains  how  to  cook  so  simply  that  no  one 
can  fail  to  understand  every  word,  even  a  complete 
novice. 

A   LITTLE   HOUSEKEEPING   BOOK  FOR   A 
LITTLE  GIRL 

By  CAROLINE  FRENCH  BENTON. 

A  little  girl,  home  from  school  on  Saturday  mornings, 
finds  out  how  to  make  helpful  use  of  her  spare  time,  and 
also  how  to  take  proper  pride  and  pleasure  in  good 
housework. 

A  LITTLE  SEWING  BOOK  FOR  A  LITTLE 
GIRL 

By  LOUISE  FRANCES  CORNELL. 

"  It  is  comprehensive  and  practical,  and  yet  revealingly 
instructive.  It  takes  a  little  girl  who  lives  alone  with 
her  mother,  and  shows  how  her  mother  taught  her  the 
art  of  sewing  in  its  various  branches.  The  illustrations 
aid  materially."  —  Wilmington  Every  Evening. 

A    LITTLE    PRESERVING    BOOK    FOR    A 
LITTLE    GIRL 

By  AMY  L.  WATERMAN. 

In  simple,  clear  wording,  Mrs.  Waterman  explains 
every  step  of  the  process  of  preserving  or  "canning" 
fruits  and  vegetables. 

A  LITTLE  GARDENING  BOOK  FOR  A  LITTLE 
GIRL 

By  PETER  MARTIN. 

This  little  volume  is  an  excellent  guide  for  the  young 
gardener.    In  addition  to  truck  gardening,  the  book  gives 
valuable  information   on   flowers,   the   planning   of   the 
garden,  selection  of  varieties,  etc. 
A  — 10 


BOOKS  FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE 


THE  LITTLE  COLONEL  BOOKS 

(Trade  Mark) 

By  ANNIE  FELLOWS  JOHNSTON 

Each  large  12mo,  doth,  illustrated,  per  volume  .  $1.90 
THE  LITTLE  COLONEL  STORIES 

(Trade  Mark) 

Being  three  "  Little  Colonel  "  stories  in  the  Cosy  Corner 
Series,  "The  Little  Colonel,"  "Two  Little  Knights  of 
Kentucky,"  and  "  The  Giant  Scissors,"  in  a  single  volume. 

THE  LITTLE  COLONEL'S  HOUSE  PARTY 

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THE  LITTLE  COLONEL'S  HOLIDAYS 

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THE  LITTLE  COLONEL'S 

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THE    LITTLE    COLONEL 

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SCHOOL 
THE  LITTLE  COLONEL  IN  ARIZONA 

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THE     LITTLE     COLONEL'S     CHRISTMAS 

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VACATION 
THE  LITTLE  COLONEL,  MAID  OF  HONOR 

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THE  LITTLE  COLONEL'S  KNIGHT  COMES 

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RIDING 
THE    LITTLE    COLONEL'S    CHUM,    MARY 

WARE          (Trade  Mark) 

MARY  WARE  IN  TEXAS 

MARY  WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

These  twelve  volumes,  boxed  as  a  set,  $22.80. 
A  — 11 


THE  PAGE  COMPANY'S 


SPECIAL   HOLIDAY   EDITIONS 

Each  small  quarto,  cloth  decorative,  per  volume      .      $1.50 
New  plates,  handsomely  illustratea  with  eight  full-page 
drawings  in  color,  and  many  marginal  sketches. 

THE  LITTLE  COLONEL 

(Trade  Mark) 

TWO  LITTLE  KNIGHTS  OF  KENTUCKY 
BIG  BROTHER 

THE  JOHNSTON  JEWEL  SERIES 

Each  small  16mo,  cloth  decorative,  with  frontispiece 

and  decorative  text  borders,  per  volume  $0.75 

IN  THE  DESERT  OF  WAITING:  THE  LEGEND 
OP  CAMELBACK  MOUNTAIN. 

THE  THREE  WEAVERS:  A  FAIRY  TALE  FOB 
FATHERS  AND  MOTHERS  AS  WELL  AS  FOR  THEIR 
DAUGHTERS. 

KEEPING  TRYST:  A  TALE  OF  KING  ARTHUR'S 
TIME. 

THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  BLEEDING  HEART 

THE  RESCUE  OF  PRINCESS  WINSOME: 

A  FAIRY  PLAY  FOR  OLD  AND  YOUNG. 

THE  JESTER'S  SWORD 


THE    LITTLE    COLONEL'S    GOOD    TIMES 
BOOK 

Uniform  in  size  with  the  Little  Colonel  Series  .      $2.50 
Bound  in  white  kid  (morocco)  and  gold    .  5.00 

Cover  design  and  decorations  by  Peter  Verberg. 
"  A  mighty  attractive  volume  in  which  the  owner  may 
record  the  good  times  she  has  on  decorated  pages,  and 
under  the  directions  as  it  were  of  Annie  Fellows  John- 
ston." —  Buffalo  Express, 
A  — 12 


BOOKS  FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE 


THE  LITTLE  COLONEL  DOLL  BOOK  — First 

Series 

Quarto,  boards,  printed  in  colors     .         .         .    $1.90 

A  series  of  "  Little  Colonel "  dolls.     Each  has  several 

changes  of  costume,  so  they  can  be  appropriately  clad 

for  the  rehearsal  of  any  scene  or  incident  in  the  series. 

THE  LITTLE  COLONEL  DOLL  BOOK  — Sec- 
ond Series 

Quarto,  boards,  printed  in  colors  .  .  .  $1.90 
An  artistic  series  of  paper  dolls,  including  not  only 
lovable  Mary  Ware,  the  Little  Colonel's  chum,  but  many 
another  of  the  much  loved  characters  which  appear  in 
the  last  three  volumes  of  the  famous  "Little  Colonel 
Series." 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  RED  CROSS:  as  Told  to 

the  Little  Colonel 

Cloth  decorative,  12mo,  illustrated     .         .         .     $1.25 

This  story  originally  appeared  in  "  The  Little  Colonel's 
Hero,"  but  the  publishers  decided  to  issue  it  as  a 
separate  volume. 

"  No  one  could  tell  the  story  of  the  Red  Cross  with 
more  vividness  and  enthusiasm  than  this  author,  and 
here  she  is  at  her  best.  No  book  published  during  the 
Great  War  is  more  valuable  and  timely  than  this  appeal- 
ing story  of  the  beginning  of  the  Red  Cross."  —  New 
York  Tribune. 

"It  deserves  a  place  in  every  school  as  well  as  in 
every  home  where  the  work  of  the  Red  Cross  is  appre- 
ciated."—  Evening  Express,  Portland,  Me. 

"Not  only  VERY  interesting,  but  has  large  educa- 
tional value."  —  Lookout,  Cincinnati,  Ohio. 

JOEL:  A  BOY  OF  GALILEE 

12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated     .         .         .     $1.90 
"  The  book  is  a  very  clever  handling  of  the  greatest 

event  in  the  history  of  the  world."  —  Rochester^  N.  Y., 

Herald. 

A  — 13 


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THE  LITTLE  COUSINS   OF  LONG 
AGO  SERIES 

The  volumes  in  this  series  describe  the  boys  and  girls 
of  ancient  times. 

Each   small   12mo,   cloth    decorative,   illustrated,   90c. 

OUR  LITTLE  ATHENIAN  COUSIN  OF  LONG 
AGO 

By  JULIA  DAHROW  COWLES. 

OUR  LITTLE   CARTHAGINIAN   COUSIN   OF 
LONG  AGO 

By  CLARA  V.  WINLOW. 

OUR  LITTLE  CELTIC  COUSIN  OF  LONG  AGO 

By  EVALEEN  STEIN. 

OUR  LITTLE  FRANKISH  COUSIN  OF  LONG 
AGO 

By  EVALEEN  STEIN. 

OUR    LITTLE    MACEDONIAN    COUSIN    OF 
LONG  AGO 

By  JULIA  DAREOW  COWLES. 

OUR   LITTLE    NORMAN   COUSIN   OF   LONG 
AGO 

By  EVALEEN  STEIN. 

OUR  LITTLE  ROMAN  COUSIN  OF  LONG  AGO 

By  JULIA  DAREOW  COWLES. 

OUR  LITTLE  SAXON  COUSIN  OF  LONG  AGO 

By  JULIA  DAREOW  COWLES. 

OUR  LITTLE  SPARTAN  COUSIN  OF  LONG 
AGO 

By  JULIA  DARROW  COWLES. 

OUR  LITTLE  VIKING  COUSIN  OF  LONG  AGO 

By  CHARLES  H.  L.  JOHNSTON. 
A— 14 


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